Wanderers from the Weird Side
by William Easley
Summary: August 2017: Following the events of "Very Last Gig!" the gang tries to unwind . . . but then they start to see phantoms around them. Who are these strangely familiar apparitions . . . and what do they want? Wendip warning, and though there's nothing explicit, don't be shocked by a little non-raunchy nudity.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own the show GRAVITY FALLS or any of its characters; they are the property of the show creator, Alex Hirsch, and the Walt Disney Company. I make no money from my stories and write just for fun and in the hope that the stories might amuse other fans._

* * *

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 14, 2017)**

* * *

**1: Stirrings**

The Monday after Woodstick ended was a day off for those who worked in the Mystery Shack. Teek and Mabel had an all-day date—the pressure she'd been under and the apparent deaths of the boys in Sev'ral Timez had left her shaken, and Teek decided to take her mind off all that. For one thing, Tad Strange had invited them to come over and tour the sets for the upcoming Webflix show starring the five brothers. It was to be set in California, but the video would be shot in Oregon—cheaper that way.

The town of Salem, south of Portland, would double as the fictional Remuda, an imaginary town somewhere in northern California. As Tad explained to Mabel and Teek, "We can run the boys over to Necktown Beach for surfing scenes" (in the show, "Brothers at Law," the five brothers were avid surfers) "or to Mount Hood for skiing shots" (in real life, the guys couldn't surf or ski, but that's TV for you). A compact set, once a complex of warehouses, would include the brothers' law offices, a courtroom, the boys' apartments, coffee shops, restaurants, jail cells, and other miscellaneous places. The town itself could be used for street scenes.

It sounded interesting, and Teek was going to major in film studies, so he and Mabel planned a long day's excursion, leaving the Shack early and then driving Helen Wheels and following Sev'ral Timez's RV. They didn't expect to be back until after midnight.

Even though Dipper and Wendy had a late night—they got to bed around two in the morning—they rose a little before eight and did their run. The weather forecast said the day would be fine with scattered clouds in the evening and a chance of rain by Tuesday night, so they took their nature-trail route, came back to the Shack, showered, had breakfast—and then took off for a hike.

Now, if you or I had run four miles before breakfast, about the last thing on our minds would be another four-mile hike, especially since later on we'd have to walk back the same distance. But Dipper and Wendy were in good shape, and they had been promising themselves a visit to the hot spring not far from Ghost Falls, Wendy's personal private hot tub, where they could relax and unwind.

That meant driving on a rugged, overgrown old logging trail to a point where once a covered bridge, now collapsed, had led to a plateau that in the nineteenth century had been the site of a mine and mining town. Nowadays, the mine was closed and only a crumbling ghost town remained.

They had packed a lunch and a few other necessities, and eventually Wendy parked Dipper's Range Runner—he had not named it, though to Mabel it was Meepmeep—off the trail (though no other vehicles were likely to come that far from town), and the two helped each other into their backpacks.

They hiked through pine-scented woods where no trail appeared. That didn't matter, not as long as Wendy was about—she had an unerring sense of direction and was as at home in the woods as in the Shack. They heard birds all around—and the drumming of woodpeckers, the theme song, practically, of the Valley—and once a small squirrel hung forty feet up on the trunk of a pine tree and barked at them like a miniature dog.

"Chickaree," Wendy said.

"That's a bird, isn't it?" Dipper asked.

"Close. The bird's a chickadee. Chickaree, one letter different, though I've heard some people call 'em chickadees. They're red squirrels—loud, isn't he?—hey, see the oak over there? About midway up, over on the right, that thing in the branches?"

It was hard to spot among the leaves, but after a moment Dipper saw it. "Bird's nest?" he guessed.

"No, a drey," Wendy told him. "That's a squirrel nest. Betcha anything that's the little guy's home. He's just warning us to keep our distance, or else."

The red squirrel's scolding followed them for thirty or forty yards before the small animal evidently decided they weren't a threat and shut up.

"Drey huh?" Dipper asked.

Wendy spelled it for him. "Just the name for a squirrel's nest," she said. "Lots of people think they build 'em to hibernate in the winters, but they don't really hibernate. They do get scarce, though—stay in the nest a lot of the time. Funny thing, ground squirrels do hibernate, tree squirrels don't."

"I'm going to put that information in my next book," Dipper said. "I think kids would be interested in it."

"Yeah, geeky kids," Wendy teased.

They hiked another mile or so and emerged in a more open landscape of rolling hills. "Looks like the beaver pond's down some," Wendy said, pointing.

Off to their right, a rocky bluff led up to a sort of terraced mountainside. At the foot of the bluff, a long stretch of water and marshland led off north and south, nestled into the curve of stone. Another twenty minutes of walking brought them to the green hill with the spring where they had camped pretty often. "Not a sign of people anywhere," Dipper said.

"Hardly ever is, unless some hunters or fishermen roam this far back. Used to make me mad, I'd come out here to be alone, and some slob would've left food wrappers and junk. But I got so I'd just bury it and forget about it. Ghost Falls could use some rain. Hope we'll get some this week. Look, the flow's so thin I think I can make out the cave behind it."

"We should tell Grunkle Stan when we get back," Dipper said. "I think he's probably retrieved all the gold nuggets and dust, but now that the water's low, he might want to come back and check. Ever see him in his SCUBA gear?"

"That must be a sight!" Wendy said, laughing.

"Maybe we can come with him and watch."

From the hill it was a short way down the slope and then around the upper end of the beaver pond and back to the nearly vertical stone bluff. The hot spring, a gently steaming, sandy-bottomed crater about ten feet across, nestled under an overhang of rock. When they arrived, Wendy took off her boots and dipped a toe in. "Just right," she said. "Gonna feel good."

They took off their backpacks and stripped.

The first time they had done that, with delicacy on both sides, they had discreetly undressed beneath or behind a blanket, and at that they'd worn bathing suits. But they had come here a good many times since, and they had been skinny-dipping together, and now they were comfortable in their skins.

Naked, they helped each other into the spring and settled down in the water, so warm that it edged right up to nearly too hot, with luxurious sighs. "You keep looking at me, dude!" Wendy teased.

"I can't help it," Dipper said. "You're beautiful."

"Yeah, yeah. Remember," she said, "when we do our church wedding thing, you can't look at me when I have my wedding dress on. Bad luck."

"OK," Dipper said. "I'll only look at you when you don't have anything on."

"Deal!" she said with a huge grin. "Come here and put your arm around me. First, I want a mental make-out, and then let's just laze and relax!"

They cuddled in the water, leaning back against the smoothest wall of the crater. And touching skin to skin, they used their special kind of telepathy to explore thoughts and dreams and, well, let's be frank here, fantasies. And a good time, as they say, was had by both.

"What's bothering you?" Wendy asked later. "I can tell something's worrying you. Is it Bill Cipher?"

"No," Dipper said. "I don't think so, anyway. He's kind of faded so I can hardly even sense him. I guess in a couple of weeks he goes for good."

"After that if you call me 'Red,' I'll get even," Wendy said.

"Beat me up?"

"No—this!"

"Ah!" Dipper yelled. "Oh, no—please stop!"

"Mabel's right. You really are ticklish." Wendy relented, and they snuggled and kissed, and Dipper's hands caressed her.

"What's going on under the surface?" she asked, though as long as they were touching, she knew—as well as what was going through his mind. "Let's ease off. It's not that I hate it, Dip, but—let's hold out until the wedding. I want our first time to be in our house. Hey, you gonna carry me over the threshold?"

"Of course!" Dipper said. "It's traditional."

"Think you can lift me and hold me long enough to make it?"

"Pretty sure," he said. "But if I can't, you can carry me."

She laughed. "Oh, I totally could do it, dude!"

"I know you can."

They were silent for a time, kissing and holding each other. Then Wendy said dreamily, "You suppose we'll have this much fun after we're married?"

"At least," he said. "Probably more!"

"Hope so. College and all—gonna be a challenge."

"I think we can deal with it," Dipper said.

"Mm." Wendy took his wrist, raised his hand out of the water, and looked at his palm. Then she kissed it. "You're getting' all pruned up, dude. Guess it's time for us to climb out and get dressed and have our picnic."

They came out dripping—Wendy had even let her hair get wet—and toweled each other off, very thoroughly, slowly, and gently. Dipper, without even trying to hide it, watched his girl get dressed.

She chuckled, raising an eyebrow as she stared at her bare boyfriend. "_This_ is turning you on? An opposite strip tease?"

"Just you," he said. "I love your grace. And you—I don't know how to put it. You always know where you are and who you are. You're so centered and sure of yourself. Confidence, is that the word?"

She sat on a boulder to pull her boots on as Dipper got into underwear, jeans, and tee shirt. "That's just a front," she said. "I've always kind of buried my insecurities and doubts. Remember the Blind Eye stuff? I told you all then, I spent most of my teens stressed twenty-four seven. Yeah, I knew I was real good at some things, lumberjack games, pulling pranks, that sort of stuff. But me and my gang were kind of the outsiders in school. Kinda like you, man."

Dipper sighed as he put on his hiking shoes. "Yeah. I mean, on the track team I had some friends, but—not like Mabel. She had _close_ friends. I had a few guys and girls I could speak to in the lunchroom. Big difference. I don't know. With me, I guess it's genetic. Stan says that I'm a lot like Grunkle Ford when they were our age."

They stood, and unexpectedly Wendy grabbed him, dipped him back, and planted a kiss on him. "Mm-wah!" she said, sounding like Mabel blowing a kiss. "So we're a couple of misfits. We're real lucky we fit together, right?"

"Right!" he said, unable to keep from laughing. "Hey, let me up!"

"Just a sec. Want to try something."

She scooped him up and lifted him as he clung to her neck. "Yep! Push comes to shove, I can tote you over the threshold, man!" She set him down.

"My turn," he said, and he put one arm under her knees, one under her back, and lifted her, grunting just a little. "There you go. Impressed?"

"Yeah, but can you walk?" she asked. He carried her a few steps and then set her down.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

She put her forearms on his shoulders. "I think I will be," she murmured. "I love you, Dipper Pines."

"Wendy, you're the only girl I've ever loved or ever will love."

And that called for a kiss and that called for closed eyes, and it went on for a long time.

When they broke it, they both sighed and opened their eyes again.

And then, looking over Dipper's left shoulder—Wendy screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 14, 2017)**

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**2: Visitors from Where?**

It's a horror movie cliché. Trixandra shrieks, Chadley rushes to her side. "Trixandra? What has just happened to make you scream like that for no reason?"'

"Oh, Chadley! I just saw something terrible right there in the doorway of that abandoned house where the murders happened a hundred years ago this very night!"

"I will go over and look. Hmm. Well, there's nothing here now. I'm sure you just imagined it. Let's go inside."

"OK."

You know the bit. It's usually the girl, and the insufferably overconfident guy pooh-poohs her alarm with an assurance that her cute little imagination is working overtime and she gives in and from there on, it's all raspberry jam spattering the walls.

In real life, that didn't happen. Dipper immediately whirled to face whatever danger Wendy had seen, instinctively throwing out an arm to protect her. He saw grassy hills and the forest beyond. Nothing else. He heard jays calling and woodpeckers pecking and the skittering of insects in the grass. Wendy gasped. "Where did it—?"

"What was it?" he asked.

Wendy's hand closed on his shoulder—not the clench of fear, just the reassurance that she had his back. "Dude, it's gone! But for a second, standing right over there I saw—me!"

"You were just imagining things," Dipper did not say. Instead, he said, "Where? Show me."

The spot was just about fifty feet away, in ankle-high grass—no place for anyone to hide for at least a thirty-yard radius. But no one was there. Because it was on the shady side of a hill, dew still gleamed on the grass, but there was no dark trail showing anyone had walked there.

"It was right here," Wendy said. "I took my eyes off it when you spun around, and when I looked back, it was gone."

"Let's see if we can find it," Dipper did not say. Instead, he said, "Come on. Let's get back to the Shack and talk to Grunkle Ford."

Yeah, because if Chadley and Trixandra had asked someone for help instead of, you know, going through that door into that old falling-down house, there wouldn't have been a movie.

Wendy and Dipper missed their picnic, but they made good time back to the car, and in about two hours and ten minutes, they parked in Stanford and Lorena Pines's driveway. Lorena answered the doorbell, took one look at them, and said, "He's up in the Shack doing some work for the Institute's fall term."

"Thanks," Dipper said.

He and Wendy drove up the hill to the Shack. No one was home. The Ramirezes were probably off at a park somewhere, letting the kids play and unwinding from the stress of putting on Woodstick. Teek and Mabel were off touring a TV studio set.

They found Stanford on the upper level, typing away at a keyboard. He looked around, said, "Let me just finish this memo. Twenty-one seconds." And twenty-one seconds later, he took them to the small research library he maintained on that lab level and said, "Sit on the love seat and tell me what happened."

Wendy sat holding Dipper's hand. "We went out to Ghost Falls for a picnic," she began. "We took a dip in the hot spring, and then afterward as we started up toward our camping site, I saw, I guess, a ghost? Or a vision or something. And in a second, it vanished. But I know it was there."

"Can you describe it?" Ford asked.'

"Look at me," she said. "It looked just like me—boots, jeans, a green-plaid flannel shirt, my ushanka. Just standing there holding her arms out toward us. But then Dipper turned to look, and she vanished."

"You poor little thing, you're nervous about the wedding, and you imagined it," Ford did not say. Instead, very seriously, he asked, "Did the apparition appear transparent? Solid? Were the colors normal?"

Wendy bit her lip and thought for a second. "Solid. Looked real. Kinda like looking into a mirror, you know. I'm pretty sure it cast a shadow, and I could see the boots were wet from the tall grass."

"What do you think?" Dipper asked. "Doppelgänger?"

"Possibly, Mason," Ford said. "Wendy, did you have any sensation of being in two places at once? Were you where the figure was, looking back toward you and Mason?"

"Nothing like that," she said. "It was like seeing another person, but the person looked like my double."

"It didn't leave footprints or marks in the grass," Dipper said. "We went over and checked."

"What's a doppelgänger?" Wendy asked. "I know the word, but it's like 'double,' right? I mean, some people might think that Dr. P. and Stan were doppelgängers."

"That's one sense of the term, yes," Ford said. "It's a German word that literally means 'double-walker.' In mystical theory, it's a spiritual duplicate of a person—identical in every respect—and it can appear miles from where the actual person is and anyone seeing it would just assume it was the person whose duplicate the apparition is. It appears real, it can hold conversations and manipulate solid objects and so on, but it's essentially a paranormal force, not an individual."

"What do they do?" asked Wendy.

Dipper said, "A lot of times it's just sort of random behavior, like a poltergeist. Like a trick the doppelgänger plays just to mess with the victim or to confuse people. But sometimes it comes to warn the person it imitates of danger or illness or something like that."

Wendy looked him in the eye. "Dude, I'm holding your hand. It's a death omen."

"Only sometimes," Dipper said.

"Mason's correct," Ford told her. "There's also a psychological or organic condition that causes some people to hallucinate meeting their double. A researcher, what is his name, let me think . . . Peter Brugger, encountered a case in which a man had a terrifying experience of being awakened by his own double. The bizarre thing was that the subject's consciousness alternated between the two—the man woke in bed to find his double shaking him, and then suddenly he was standing by the bed shaking his double. Other researchers, Heydrich and Blanke for example, have located a specific portion of the brain that generates illusions of duality like this."

"So I have something wrong with my brain?" Wendy asked.

"I doubt that," Ford said with a smile. "Knowing you, and knowing Gravity Falls, I'd choose to believe that you saw something real."

"Was it threatening?" Dipper asked.

Wendy frowned a little as she shook her head. "No, not scary at all. A little sad, maybe? I don't know exactly. Oh, one thing—I'm not sure, but I think this was like me a couple of years ago, not now. She looked a little bit younger in some way. I don't know, I can't put my finger on it, just an impression."

"All right," Ford said, "the faculty meeting schedule for the term can wait. Let's get to work and see what we can find out about doppelgängers in Gravity Falls."

* * *

Teek and Mabel had taken turns driving Helen Wheels, and they'd had more coffee than usual. They'd been up late on the last night of Woodstick and had to keep themselves alert on the drive over to Salem.

They had lunch at an Italian restaurant with the boys of Sev'ral Timez and Tad Strange, and then they went to Camelopard Studios, on the outskirts of town. From a distance it looked like three enormous concrete-block warehouses with metal roofs—for good reason, because they were in fact repurposed warehouses.

Now the walls had colorful abstract designs painted on them, the expansive space in front of the buildings had become a huge parking lot, and across from the structures squatted a one-story pale brick office building that looked new. Tad got them through the manned gate, they parked where he indicated—in front of the offices—and when they got out of Mabel's car, he said, "We'll need to get visitors' badges for you. Follow me."

On the way, he looked into about four offices just to say hello. Mabel got the feeling he was well-liked—the guys and girls at the desks all had a cheery, "Hi, Tad!" or "How was the music show?" for him. The main office was spacious, and Tracy, the chief assistant, quickly prepared two clip-on name badges for Mabel and Teek. "These will give you access to everything but Studio C," she said. "They're shooting interiors for a movie there today."

"We're just touring Studio A," Tad told her. To the kids, he added, "All the major interior sets of _Brothers at Law_ are in there. Tracy, are they doing construction?"

She checked a schedule. "They're finishing the jail cells," she said. "So you might want to stay away from those. I think it's mainly just touch-up stuff, though, so nothing too noisy."

They walked across the parking lot. Each former warehouse had a giant-sized garage door, probably fifteen feet all and close to twenty wide, but also just plain old human-sized doors. "The boys are going to meet us in their office set," Tad said as they entered the cavernous space. "Watch where you step. Work lights are on, but it's still dark in the backstage areas, and there's lots of cables on the floor."

As they walked down a wide, dim corridor, Tad explained that it had cork lined walls mostly for sound buffering. "Have to have it quiet on the set," he explained. "And despite the size, the building's soundproofed. Turn right here."

'They walked into what, on three sides anyway, looked like an office—and there were Deep Chris, Leggy P., Greggy C., Creggy G., and Chubby Z. grinning at them. The guys were dressed in business suits. "What do you think of our crib, girl?" asked Deep Chris. "Yo, these are the law offices of the _Brothers at Law_, crusading attorneys!"

To tell the truth, it was underwhelming. It did look like an office—a receptionist's desk, two interior doors, a big window through which you could see a cityscape—although that was actually just a mural-sized photo and looked very fake. The desk was real and, from a distance, impressive, but sort of battered and scratched when you got close to it. A potted plant turned out to be plastic.

"Does it look better on the screen?" Mabel asked.

With a chuckle, Chubby Z. called, "Hey, Dwight? Camera A, please, and throw it on the monitor for us."

From somewhere in the dark a voice said, "You got it. Lights."

Bright lights flooded the set, and then Chubby Z. said, "Look at the monitor behind you, Mabel."

"Oh, boy!" she said catching sight of a wide view of her, Teek, and the guys. "It looks so real! Even the buildings outside the window!"

"Looks are most deceptive, though," Greggy C. said, opening a door. Beyond it lay a tangle of cables and wire supports. "There's no backdrop here yet. But when there is, this will be like the corridor leading to the offices. That's really the next set over, but to look like I'm going there, I'll open this door and then they shut off the camera, and we pick up in the next set with me coming in through my office door. It's hard to get your head around."

They looked at the office set—"This one will be all four of our offices, they just re-dress with different desks and decorations," Creggy G. explained—and then at the conference room, the courtroom—not yet ready because it had the judge's dais and the rails, but no attorneys' tables or spectator seating—and then Tad took them to a viewing room and they watched test footage of some locations.

"These two streets were run-down and all," Deep Chris explained. "So the company did some refurbishing of the store fronts in exchange for getting to film there on Sundays and nights. That's supposed to be the building that our offices are in. It's really an old department store that's been closed for thirty years."

They also had some beach scenes with a surfer riding a big wave. And then a shot of Deep Chris balancing on a surfboard that was on some kind of lift that gently moved it as he spread his arms, crouched, and pretended to ride the wave. Behind him was a blank green screen.

Then the shot replayed, but this time moving footage of the ocean replaced the green screen. "It's not real looking," said Deep Chris, "but when it's all edited with quick cuts and a little CGI water is added, you'd think I was really surfing!"

"That's the magic of movies," Teek said.

"Most excellent observation!" Chubby Z. said, laughing.

They had a good time, and after four hours they'd seen it all and had made selfies with Sev'ral Timez posing in the office and in one of the unfinished jail cells—Teek and Mabel behind bars, the guys pretending to have just unlocked the door and to be offering them their freedom.

By then it was late afternoon, and Teek and Mabel returned their name tags and said their goodbyes. Tad told them to get in touch any time they wanted to visit and apologized that the writers and director of the show weren't yet on the site. But that was OK.

"I enjoyed that," Teek said as they left the office and headed to where they'd parked Helen Wheels. "One day I want to work in a studio like this."

"Maybe you can work in this one!" Mabel said. "That would be handy! You could—what the heck? Why's Dipper here?"

"Huh?" They were fifty feet away from Helen Wheels, parked near the center of a long row of slots. The windshield reflected the afternoon sky, but through the glare, Teek saw Dipper slumped at the wheel, as if waiting for them. "Maybe something's wrong!"

They ran the last few steps—but by the time they arrived at the car, Dipper had disappeared.

"I know I saw him!" Mabel said as she unlocked the car. She opened the driver's side door and said, "He left his cap!"

Teek got into the passenger seat and lifted the trucker's cap with its pine-tree emblem from the floor. "Where did he go?"

He wasn't in the back seat. The car's interior felt hot, as if no one had opened the door since they parked.

"I don't like this," Mabel said. "Mysteries aren't supposed to follow us out of the Falls!" She started the car. "We're good for gas," she said. "OK, we're driving straight back. Buckle up. I'm not even going to stop for dinner."

Teek shot her a quick glance, her words making him realize how serious this all was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 14, 2017)**

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**3: Tantalized**

Stanford Pines accumulated knowledge the way a pack rat accumulates buttons, beads, coins, shoelaces, and . . . pretty much anything a pack rat can carry. He had never before paid much attention to the legends of the doppelgänger, though, and he found himself exploring the subject, making copious notes, and in fact getting so wrapped up in it that he nearly forgot the immediate goal of resolving the question of what Wendy Corduroy saw.

For instance, Ford discovered that some experts tracked the notion of a twin spirit back to Plato and Platonic Idealism. Had Dipper and Wendy been down in the lab with him, he would have lectured: Plato held that there are two levels of existence, the Ideal realm and the Physical realm. However, the Physical realm is largely an illusion (buy gold!) and exists as an imperfect reflection of the Ideal.

In the Ideal realm, perfect versions of everything and everybody exist without flaws, blemishes, or limitations. Moreover, they are eternal and can be reached only with the mind. Assume, Plato said, that in some Earthly kingdom a king goes nuts and has a grudge against, oh, let's say chairs. The king orders every chair in the kingdom destroyed. He orders every carpenter who ever build a chair to be hanged. He orders every image of a chair, every written mention of a chair, to be expunged from the record. After a long reign, the king dies. His son inherits the, well, not throne, but place-where-the-king stands and continues the ban. This goes on for generations.

OK, so five hundred years later, in the Kingdom of the Standing Up People, some schlub gets tired of standing all the time. Now, nobody remembers what a chair was. They have no concept of chairness. They are a chairless race. But this mook, let's call him Charley, one day gets a few pieces of wood, nails them together, and sits on them. The idea catches on, and soon every house in the kingdom has made or bought a charley for every member of the household. The chair has been re-invented.

Now, says Plato, here's the sixty-four-drachma question: _Where did Charley get the idea of a chair?_

And answering himself, Plato says that Charley's mind visited the Ideal realm, glimpsed the Ideal of a chair, and imperfectly replicated it in our illusory realm of the senses. And nobody can ever destroy the Ideal of the chair. You can set fire to Charley's invention, and in a few minutes, it won't be a chair any longer. But the Ideal is eternal, and therefore more real than reality, which is transitory, mutable, and subject to frequent commercial interruptions.

Ford would continue to say that were Plato's notion true, then each of us has a double. If that double can somehow temporarily manifest in the Physical realm, there you go. A classic doppelgänger. Not that the information would help Wendy and Dipper, but it was interesting. If you were Stanford Pines.

He roamed through legend, myth, and history, finding references to spooky doubles in Norse mythology—there the word was _vardøger_, the main distinguishing characteristic being that one of these would go before the human whose semblance it took and would perform the human's everyday tasks for him or her. The Finns had the_ etiäinen, _whose function was to clean up the actions that its human would not be able to do by virtue of being dead soon.

Historically, Catherine the Great once saw herself sitting on her own throne. Elizabeth I saw herself lying dead in her bed and soon afterward died. Abraham Lincoln saw two of himself reflected in the mirror, stopped shaving, and became President. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was riding his horse through a forest and met himself riding the double of his horse going the other way. It shocked him. The horse's reaction wasn't noted.

From there, Ford went on to learn about crisis apparitions—not ghosts, but living persons appearing many, many miles from where their physical bodies were. John Donne's wife Ann, in England, appeared to her husband, in Paris, carrying the corpse of a dead baby. Donne soon learned that at the exact moment he had seen his wife, she had given birth to their tragically stillborn child, hundreds of miles away. And there were many, many other anecdotes of the same kind. The hours just slipped away as Ford buried himself in research.

* * *

Meanwhile Wendy had taken matters into her own hands. She and Dipper drove up to her aunt's farm, about twenty miles from the Falls, and sitting at her dining-room table, Wendy had put the question to her: "What does it mean when you see yourself, like a ghost?"

Sallie got the story from her, then asked, "You ever hear of a fetch?"

"Like in a game with a dog?" Wendy asked.

Without smiling, Sallie shook her head. "It's a kind of ghost. Old Irish tales tell about them. A fetch is a spirit, except it looks exactly like a person. And it's sent to Earth when that person's time is up. The fetch escorts it on into the afterlife."

"A psychopomp," Dipper said. "In Greek mythology, Hermes had the job of leading the dead to Hades."

"Like that, I suppose," Sallie said. "I heard stories about them from my great-granny. Didn't put any stock in them, you know. Just bogie-stories or fairy tales. Never heard tell of one in my lifetime. Did you both see this one?"

"I didn't," Dipper said. "But Wendy's sure she saw it."

"I wasn't imagining things," Wendy said. "It was just like me, only—there was something off about it. I can't remember just what. I only saw it for a few seconds before it vanished. And I didn't even see it disappear, just looked away, and when I looked back, it was gone."

"Wasn't your mother, was it?" Sallie asked quietly. "Mandy was the spit and image of you, Wendy. 'Cept in her last year she lost her hair because of her sickness. But you two could be mistaken for twins."

"No," Wendy said. "I would have known my mom. No, this was me, but—I wish I could remember what was off about her. It's driving me crazy! Anyway, it didn't seem to want to fetch me or talk to me or anything. She just looked—sad and kind of scared, I think. Hard to tell."

Dipper added, "Wendy says she looked real, not ghostly. She remembers her boots were wet."

"Boots?" asked Sallie.

"Yeah, like the logger's boots I always used to wear," Wendy said. "You remember."

"Yeah, they were always muddy," Sallie said with a smile. "The ones you wear now look a little different."

"Maybe that was it," Wendy said thoughtfully. She was wearing the—oh, wait! I got it!" She stood up and said, "When I saw her, she was holding out her right hand toward me like this." She stretched out her arm, holding her palm up, as if she were on a ledge and was reaching down to help someone else climb up. "I think she only had four fingers!"

Dipper felt a little cold chill. "So she looked the way you did when we first met," he said. "Before your pinkies came in."

"Yeah, dude," Wendy said. "I—I think I saw myself at fifteen!"

* * *

Teek and Mabel, having rushed home from Salem, showed up at about twenty past nine, earlier than they had figured. Ford was still down in the lab; Abuelita had taken the kids off to bed; Soos and Melody were in their bedroom, watching TV. Wendy and Dipper, still puzzling over the peculiar sighting, were on the sofa, with the TV on but the volume muted. An old movie, _Planet of the Orangutans _(not the 1968 original, but the 2001 remake), was on.

Mabel charged in, Tripper heard her and came charging out, and Mabel scooped up the dog. "Did you think I was never ever coming home? Yes, you can lick my face! Ha-ha! OK, something crucial happened. Dipper, where were you this afternoon between five and five-thirty?

"Um—driving back from Wendy's aunt's farm, I guess," Dipper said.

Mabel turned to Wendy. "Wendy, can you verify what Dipper wait, what? You went there without me? How are Widdles and Waddles and Gompers and my chickens and—stop avoiding the subject!"

"Tell us what it is so we can not avoid it," suggested Dipper. "Why did you even ask that?"

"Teek, the evidence!" Mabel said.

Teek handed over a blue-and-white trucker's cap. "Explain that, if you can! I rest my case!" She flopped down in an armchair, Tripper in her lap.

"It's my cap," Dipper said.

"Ah-ha! And how did that cap get from here to Salem if you didn't physically take it there, Mr. Devious?"

"Hang on," Dipper said. He got up and went upstairs, leaving the pine-tree cap with Wendy. A minute later he came back down. "Here's my cap," he said. "That one's not mine."

"Do you expect me to believe there are two caps in the world that look like that?" demanded Mabel. "What kind of trick are you pulling here, Dipdop?"

"Mabes, he's right," Wendy said. "Look." She put the cap that Mabel had brought in on her head. It sat way high. She doffed that one and reached for the one Dipper had brought down and clapped it on. It was a perfect fit. "Try this one on, Dip," she said, handing him the one Mabel and Teek had brought.

He did. It perched on the top of his head like a yarmulke. "Too small," he said.

"If the hat doesn't fit, you must acquit," Teek said.

Mabel glared at her boyfriend. "That is the dumbest thing I ever heard! But I still love you. So how did this hat wind up in Helen Wheels? Have you been sneaking off to drive her?"

"I have my own car," Dipper said. "Anyway, there are dozens of these hats in the Shack. You know that! This could be anybody's."

Wendy took the interloping hat back and studied it. "This turned up in your car?"

"So did Dipper!" Mabel insisted. "We saw him sitting in the driver's seat, didn't we, Teek?"

"It looked like you," Teek said to Dipper. "The windshield was catching a lot of reflections, though."

"But you made one fatal mistake! You forgot your cap!"

"That was on an episode of _Duck-Tective," _Dipper said. "It was 'The Copper's Capper Caper.' Season five, episode 13."

"Are you implying that a duck masqueraded as you?" asked Mabel. "This gets murkier with every clue!"

"I wasn't there today," Dipper insisted. "I've never even been to the town."

"Blendin Blandin! This is some time travel deal, isn't it?" asked Mabel. "You went back in time, got yourself from back when your head wasn't so big, went to Salem and got into my car for some reason, but you lost your cap!"

"Pretty sure I'd remember that," Dipper said.

"Well, I'm out of ideas," Mabel said. "Teek, can we cook up something for dinner? I'm starving."

"Dude," Wendy said, "this can't be Dipper's hat. It's all out of shape. And it doesn't fit. Look, the adjustable band in the back is cinched up tight, and there's a little piece of duct tape so it won't pop loose, and you can tell the duct tape's been on, like, forever."

Dipper asked slowly, "Do you think that the me you saw might have been only twelve years old?"

Teek looked a little startled. "Uh—he was sort of short, sitting there behind the wheel."

"I figured you were slumping down 'cause we'd caught you," Mabel said. "But it sure looked like you!"

Dipper took out his phone and called Ford. "Yes, Mason?" his great-uncle said when he answered. "I'm finding some very suggestive hints in the _Prospect of the Invysible Worlde, _a compendium of paranormal beliefs published in London in 1605—"

"I think we've got another case," Dipper said. "Can you come up?"

"Has Wendy seen another apparition?"

"Mabel did. And it wasn't Wendy," Dipper said. "It was me."

For a moment the phone went quiet. Then, urgently, Ford said, "Don't move. I'm coming right up."

"We weren't planning on moving. Have you had anything to eat?"

"No. I'll be—"

"Ask him if he wants a hamburger," Mabel said.

Dipper relayed the question, and added, "Teek's cooking."

"In that case, yes, definitely. I'll just close out my computer, and I'll be right up."

Dipper broke the connection. They all looked at him. "I think," he said, "Grunkle Ford is scared."


	4. Chapter 4

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 14, 2017)**

* * *

**4: Noises in the Night**

To avoid talking so loudly that they bothered Soos and Melody, they gathered at two tables in the snack bar for Mabel's, Teek's, and Ford's meal. Ford complimented Teek: "This is an astonishingly good hamburger!"—and apologized when he caught himself eating too fast. "I tend to get so lost in my research that I forget little things like eating."

However, no one had noticed him eating all that fast, especially not Mabel, who was already finished with her burger and was stealing fries from Teek's plate. "OK," Mabel said, burping a little, "what is this thing about double gangers?"

"Doppelgängers," Dipper corrected.

"Duplicates," Teek said. "It's a kind of ghost that looks like a person."

"What kind of a ghost doesn't?" asked Mabel, taking some more fries.

"No," Wendy said. "I saw someone, or something, that looked just like me, but it vanished. The same way you saw an apparition of Dipper, but he wasn't really there."

"Something sure as heck was there," Mabel said. "It left its hat!"

"But we've established that it wasn't me," Dipper told her. "At least, not the real me."

"OK, so a doppel-whatever is like a ghost twin of someone?" Mabel asked.

"That's a good approximation," Ford said. He reached for a napkin. "I'd suggest 'apparition' instead of 'ghost,' though. Obviously, If Wendy saw herself, it wasn't her ghost, because she's alive."

"All right, apparition, then," Mabel said. "But why are they bugging me and Wendy?"

"That's hard to say," Ford said. "At least we know they're probably not death omens—or Dipper would have seen his own double, not you."

"Wait, who said anything about death omens?" Mabel asked. "Look, I can't stand any more of that right now! I mean, Sev'ral Timez took a death spell for me, and that jerked me right back to the time when Russ tried to fight off Xanthar and got killed. If the boys had really been dead, I think I'd have died myself! So Wendy, Dipper, don't die! That's a direct order!"

When things settled down, Ford told them about death-omen superstitions. The British and Irish had a ton of them—the Black Shuck, which was a spectral dog that showed up to threaten someone whose end was near, was one. "Abraham Fleming wrote a famous account of a Black Shuck that appeared to a church congregation during a fierce thunderstorm," Ford said. "Its eyes and mouth flashed fire, and two of the parishioners died. The church steeple also collapsed through the roof."

"Bad dog," Teek murmured.

"More commonly," Ford said, "it's said that if one meets a Black Shuck, that person will die before the end of the year. Then there's the banshee."

"We know about her," Mabel said. "Remember, one was here that summer."

"It's similar in that it delivers a warning of impending death," Ford said. Now, Wendy's aunt mentioned the fetch. That word may not have a direct link to 'fetch,' meaning 'bring.' There's an old Irish Gaelic word, '_fáith_,' which means a prophet who foretells someone's death. On the other hand, it may be an English term, shortened from 'fetch-life,' a paranormal being whose job is to take souls from Earth to the Afterlife."

"But that's just for the Irish, right?" Dipper asked.

"Well, no. In northern England during Medieval times, there was a superstition about people whose doom was near meeting or seeing themselves. The double was called a fetch there, too. The same concept—a ghostly double of a living person—was called a wraith in other parts of Great Britain."

"How do we just make it go away?" Mabel asked. "Because it can't have Wendy or Dipper. I've made serious wedding plans!"

"I don't think a fetch literally 'gets' anybody," Dipper said. "It's more a warning than something like a vampire that actually takes a life."

"In broad terms, that's correct," Ford said. "However, we're making too many assumptions. We may be dealing with something entirely different."

"Especially since they seem to look like us when we were younger," Wendy said. She and Dipper filled Ford in on the hints that what Wendy, Mabel, and Teek had seen were not Wendy and Dipper as they currently were, but as they appeared five years earlier.

"That does change things," Ford agreed. "Generally, a fetch is identical to the person being warned."

"Can it be time travel?" Mabel asked. "Like do you think Wendy and Dipper visited the future and we're seeing them as they spy on us, the rats?"

If that was true," Dipper objected, "then Wendy and I would certainly remember time-traveling. But we don't, so that's wrong."

"Mabel," Ford said, "did the vision of Dipper at the wheel of your automobile scare you? Did you find it ominous?"

"I found it irritating," Mabel said. "Dip's got his own car now!"

"I just thought it was odd," Teek volunteered. "Whatever it was, it didn't look scary. It didn't make any threatening moves or anything. And it didn't say anything. I didn't even see it move—just a figure low in the seat, behind the steering wheel. I sort of think it was looking at us, but with the glare and the reflections, I couldn't tell."

"I didn't really see his features, either," Mabel said. "But his silhouette's easy to recognize. His messy hair with those two little Pines family floofs in the back. And I think he was wearing his old vest and shirt. On the other hand, the car didn't smell like body odor when we got in it."

"From what you all say," Ford observed, "the creature, whatever it is, doesn't seem hostile. It can't be fully physical—that rules out the Shapeshifter, as well as its having appeared within a short time at widely separated places. These things just might be visitors from an alternate dimension, perhaps one lagging behind ours in time so they're younger. But we just don't know."

"What can we do to protect ourselves?" Dipper asked.

"The best thing I can think of is to stick to the house until we get a handle on all this," Ford said. "The unicorn-hair field will keep any negative energies out. Please let me know at once if any of you sees something strange."

"You could call in the Guys in Black," Wendy suggested.

Ford shook his head. "I am trying my best to keep them out of Gravity Falls," he said. "True, I'm the Director, but it's also true that many of the Agents are overly zealous. Unless it's an emergency—and so far, this doesn't seem to qualify—I prefer to keep them uninformed."

They all agreed they'd sleep on it, and they all needed sleep. Dipper, Wendy, Mabel, and Teek had all stayed up way late at Woodstick, and Ford had put in long hours dealing with Ergman Bratsman's threat. They broke up their meeting at ten. Ford and Teek went to their homes, and everyone turned in.

"Want me to stay with you?" Wendy asked Mabel.

"I've got Tripper," Mabel said. "He'll alert me if anything spooky happens. Are you gonna be OK? Maybe you should sleep in the attic with Dipper. Or with Dipper in the attic, your choice."

"Not until after our birthday," Dipper said firmly. "We've waited this long, so we can wait a couple weeks more." But to Wendy he said, "If you're worried, you can use Mabel's old bed."

"No sense in tempting the fates," Wendy said, smiling. "No, I'll sleep in my room. But have your phones handy, and if anybody needs help, yell, then call Dr. P."

* * *

At midnight, Dipper woke up—not because of a ghost, but because heavy rain drummed on the Shack roof. The promised showers had finally rolled in, and though he didn't see any flashes of lightning or hear rolls of thunder, the rush of rainwater was loud enough to wake him.

Grunting, he got up and went out to the landing. He sat on the window seat—Wendy's rooftop hideaway was directly over his head—and looked out. He couldn't see much—the parking lot was on the other side, and with the rain pouring down, he could only glimpse the pines thrashing in the wind.

He visited the bathroom and then went back to bed, feeling wakeful in that unpleasant way he always did when something disturbed his sleep. He needed a full night's rest but doubted he could fall asleep again any time soon.

Dipper rolled up in the sheet, cocooning himself—the attic always felt cooler when it was raining. The rain rushing off the roof and pattering on the ground started to sound as if a weather musician was creating rhythms: _It's NICE to be inDOORS when the RAIN comes POURing down._

He fell into a light sleep, the kind in which he was dimly conscious that he was sleeping. At times he heard the rain music, and then at times he was asleep, and the dreams melted away.

At some point he woke up, convinced that he had heard a voice. He did not recognize it—it was a boy's voice, all confidence, but so muffled that Dipper couldn't make out the words. For a few minutes, he was sure he was awake, but the voice was silent.

Then he heard—the _brrring _of an old-fashioned telephone, very far-away or very faint. He pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, head cocked. The only phone in the place that rang like that was the one on the check-out counter in the gift shop downstairs. But it was louder than this—he could hear it even in the bedroom, even with the door closed.

He got up and noticed the time: four in the morning. "Great," he groaned. "Who's calling now?" He pulled on his jeans and headed downstairs.

He stopped on the landing. The phone had stopped.

"Probably a wrong number," he muttered, returning to the bedroom.

_Brrring._

Very soft, that sound—but it was somewhere in the room, he was sure of it. He picked up his cell phone, thinking that maybe Mabel had played some dumb trick, but no one was calling him. Anyway, the ring sounded while he was holding the phone, and it definitely came from somewhere on the other side of the room.

_Brrring._

Dipper switched on the lights. The room looked the same as always—nothing particularly out of place, that ring coming again and again, so faint that he couldn't localize it. But maybe—from Mabel's empty bed?

Even standing right beside it, he could hear the sound, but couldn't even guess at where it was coming from. Ghost phone or something?

He said, "I'm here. What do you want?"

_Brrring._

The rain continued to pelt the roof and windows. _Maybe it's just rain falling onto something glass or metal outside. Maybe it just resembles an old-fashioned—_

_Brrring._

It sounded as if it might be coming from close to the floor. Dipper knelt beside the bed and thought the ring was a tiny bit louder.

He pulled things from under the bed—cardboard boxes with stuff that Mabel had owned the first summer they stayed there or had stored in the summers since. The sound didn't seem to be coming from any of it.

Then it stopped. He held his breath and counted to thirty. Nothing but the sound of the rain.

He breathed but counted on. Got to a hundred. No bells, just the rain and the wind.

"OK," he said. He haphazardly shoved the boxes back beneath Mabel's old bed, then got up, turned out the light, and went back to bed, hoping he could sleep.

His head had just touched the pillow when—

_Brrring._

"Hello!" he said more loudly than he'd intended.

He heard a click.

And then a boy's voice, draggy, thin, robotic: "Hello . . . baby . . . this . . . is . . . Kevinnnn."

The sound thinned to nothing.

Kevin? _Kevin?_

The only Kevin he knew was Kevin Bailey, a year behind him at Piedmont High School. He'd made the Varsity track team the spring before, 300-meter hurdles. He'd never won an event, though he'd placed second once and came in third twice. But this definitely wasn't Bailey. The voice was vaguely familiar, but when had he heard it? And it was so machine-like . . ..

His memory dredged up something: _Hello, baby. My beach house is big enough for two._

Same voice! Not as weak, not as draggy.

The sleepover that time! Grenda and Candy—Candy on the toy phone that came with that dumb pre-teen dating game—

Dipper jumped up, turned on the lights, and pulled out the boxes again. This time, down at the very bottom of the carton he found the battered cardboard box that contained _Calling All Boys: Preteen Edition. _

Candy: "Keven, for the last time, I am not interested!"

Grenda: "Candy! How could you say that to Kevin?"

There was the little blue-and-yellow plastic toy phone. He turned it over and popped the battery cover.

No batteries.

_BRRRING!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15, 2017)**

* * *

**5: Who Goes There?**

_I really don't want to do this._

But, being Dipper, he held the child-sized handset to his ear. "Hello?"

He heard a thrumming, an odd buzzing. Very faint, it sounded a little like the doomsday device or clanky robot sound effect in one of those cheap old movies: _woom, woom, woommmm . . . ._

Then a whispery, nearly inhuman male voice of indeterminate age: _Mabel. Mabel. Help us, babe. Help us . . . ._

Trying not to sound as scared as he felt, Dipper said, "Who is this? Who's calling?"

He was talking to a dead line. Not even the bizarre buzzing answered him.

It was stupid—the handset had a microphone, but the speaker part was in the base of the toy, and anyway, the thing didn't even have batteries—but he carefully hung up the phone. He didn't replace it in the game box but set it on his nightstand.

He spent the next couple of hours awake, waiting for a ring that never came. At about twenty before seven, someone tapped on his door. "You awake, man?"

"Come in, Wendy," he said, swinging his legs out and sitting on the side of the bed. When she did, and after she had kissed him and then nudged him over with a twitch of her butt, she sat next to him. "Fifty-fifty for our run," she said. "Still drizzling out there, but I think it's gonna clear up. What do you say? Run into town and back or give it a miss?"

"That toy phone rang," he said.

"Huh?"

"That's part of a pre-teen dating game that Mabel used to play with—"

"Oh, yeah, I remember the commercials on TV. Dream guy Kevin, right?"

"Yeah, but early this morning it rang. Someone asked for Mabel. Wendy, it doesn't even have batteries in it."

Wendy sat up straighter. "Oh, man. Is this tied in with those phantoms or whatever?"'

"Don't know. I'd guess it is, though. Something strange is going on. You think—no, that's crazy."

"Try me."

Dipper swallowed. "Do you think some, I don't know, force or spirit or something is trying to keep us from getting married?"

Wendy thought about that, leaning against Dipper—he was sitting up now, too, still in tee shirt and underwear, but she was wearing her flannel shirt and jeans. "Dude, I don't think so. The only one who might have a grudge against us is Bill Cipher, and he's mostly faded away. Seriously, what kind of ghost or demon or whatever would want to break us up? You say somebody asked for Mabel?"

"Not so much asked to talk to her," Dipper said. "More like they wanted her to help them in some way. I don't know how."

"Guy or girl?"

"Guy, I think," Dipper said. "There was a lot of interference, and the voice was all—I don't know. All wrong. Raspy but real soft."

Wendy got up and brought his laptop over. "Before we do anything else, write out a description of what happened. Everything you remember, including what the voice was like and the words it said. We'll ditch our run for today—that'll make Dr. P happy, anyway, he's worried about something getting us if we go outside of the Shack. While you're writing—" she picked up the toy phone, inspected it and then said, "Be right back."

She left and Dipper spent about five minutes typing out the short account of his experience with the phone—the weak ringing, his discovery that the source was the toy, and then what the voice had said and a description of the vocal quality. After a moment's thought, at the end he added, _I didn't really recognize the voice. I don't know if the speaker was trying to disguise it, or if it was caused by interference, or if that's just the way he (?) normally sounds._

Wendy came back holding something. "Three triple A's," she said.

"Wait," Dipper told her, saving the file. "Let me take a quick shower and get my clothes on before you try anything."

"OK."

Dipper grabbed a change of underwear from a drawer. "If it rings, don't answer it," he said.

"Go, I'm a big girl."

"Yeah," he said. "But this is something an axe can't cut."

"Never know until you try!"

Dipper was in and out of the shower in record time, no more than three minutes, if that. He dried off, put on fresh underwear, and then went back to his room. Wendy, sitting on the edge of his bed, watched him get dressed. "You've got a much firmer butt than Robbie ever had, man."

"Robbie didn't run four miles every morning," Dipper said, pulling on a clean pair of jeans. He added a Mystery Shack tee shirt and belt and, carrying his socks, came over and sat on the bed next to Wendy. "What are you planning to do?"

Wendy inserted the three small batteries, clicking them into place and then closing the battery compartment. "Gonna try making a call."

"Maybe I'd better do it."

"Let me. This is a girly toy. What do you do?"

Dipper gave a small laugh. "I never played it! But as I remember, you just sort of randomly turn the dial?"

"Really small dial, too little for my finger," Wendy said, but she managed to put her fingertip into the hole for three and spin it as if she were dialing.

The speaker—not really in the handset at all, but in the base of the phone—gave a dial tone, and then a ring. And then the mechanical-sounding voice said, "Hey, babe, this is Kevin. Want to take a ride in my new convertible?"

Wendy looked at Dipper.

"I think you just say something into the handset," he said. "Yes or no or something."

"You're a dork!" Wendy said into the phone.

"I'll pick you up in an hour. Wear something pretty," Kevin said. "Buh-bye."

Wendy hung up. "Kevin won't take no for an answer. I guess that wasn't the voice you—"

"No," Dipper said. "Completely different. You can tell this is an artificial machine voice. And an old one. I mean, with a Sherri or an Electra, they sound like a person, and this is so fake. Anyway, the guy I heard sounded at least like he was real. Kind of . . . spooky, but not like a robot."

"I suggest we let Mabel try to call," Wendy said.

Dipper shook his head. "I don't know. She went through a real hard time over the weekend. Let's tell Grunkle Ford what happened first and get his advice."

"Yeah, I guess that's best," Wendy said. "Well—since we're not gonna run—and it's so early—want to go make breakfast? Or just fool around a little bit?"

"I'm not hungry yet," Dipper said.

* * *

Tripper, who was sort of a doggy alarm clock, licked Mabel's face around seven-thirty, waking her from a dream about—something. Not anything scary. She couldn't quite remember, but it was an OK sort of dream, she knew that.

She got up, put on jeans and a shirt, and went out onto the museum porch. Tripper went down the steps—it was still drizzly, so Mabel, barefoot, stayed on the porch. Out in the grass, Tripper looked wary. He lifted one paw as if he were pointing and sniffed the air. Then he trotted to the edge of the woods, not far from Waddles's old sty, and did his business before running back and scuttling up the steps.

"Go over there first!" Mabel said, pointing.

With an apologetic look, Tripper went to the far side of the porch before shaking a spray of water off his fur.

"Now wipe your feet!" Mabel said.

Soos had put a big doormat just inside the museum entrance, brown with a darker brown question mark embossed on it. Tripper carefully wiped his front paws and then his back. Mabel closed the door and said, "Good boy," but before she could walk back to her room, Tripper seized the hem of her jeans and tugged.

"What's up with you?" she asked. "Let go!"

Tripper did, but he woofed and ran back to the door. He stood on his hind legs, his front paws against the door, and woofed again.

"Come on, you just went out!" Mabel said. She opened the door for him.

Tripper nudged it shut with his head and woofed again.

"What is it?" Mabel asked.

He stood up again, stretching his paws way up. He looked at her over his shoulder.

"What?" she asked. "Are you pointing at the door handle? What? Wait, are you telling me to lock the door?"

Tripper barked, dropped back to the floor, and sat staring up at the deadbolt.

"OK," Mabel said. She took the keyring off its hook and re-locked the door. "There. Satisfied? You weird dog!"

She took her shower and then, dressed, came into the kitchen, where Dipper and Wendy had prepared their own breakfast—eggs, sausage, and hash-browns—and asked, "Anything left?"

"Plenty of hash browns," Wendy said.

"I'll cook some sausages and your egg. Two links?"

"Four!" Mabel said. "And two eggs."

"How do you want them, scrambled or fried?"

Mabel thought it over. "Umm . . . remember when we were kids? Egg in a hat?"

"We haven't had those in a long time!" Dipper said. "OK, egg in a hat. Two?"

"Please! And don't overcook the yolk!"

Dipper said, "You know, I could let you do it yourself."

"But, Brobro," Mabel said, giving him the big puppy eye routine, "I can never make them taste as good as you do!" She glanced at Wendy. "You picking up tips on how to handle him after the wedding?"

"Maybe," Wendy said. "I'll warm up the potatoes in the oven."

Dipper took two fairly thick slices of whole-grain bread, used a biscuit cutter to cut circles into the centers and then buttered the grill. He popped down the bread slices, together with the circles, and broke an egg into each hole. Mabel at least poured her own coffee and doctored it with sugar and milk. "Tripper was real weird this morning," she said.

"How?" Dipper asked. He slipped a spatula under each slice of bread and flipped it, careful not to break the egg yolk.

"Seemed to be sniffing around out on the lawn for something," Mabel said. "Then when we came back in, he practically forced me to lock the door." She sipped her coffee. "That smells good."

Dipper had also cooked her some turkey sausages, with one extra for Tripper—though Mabel was adamant that no one else ever give him people food, she almost always snuck him a breakfast treat. He plated the two eggs, put the grilled circles of bread on top of them—they were the hats—added the sausages and a portion of hash browns, and served Mabel. "Your highness," he said.

"Thanks, Broseph!" Mabel cut into the first serving with her fork, and the yellow yolk oozed out. "Just right!"

That was where the hats came in handy—they were perfect for soaking up the yolks. Tripper, who knew very well that he had a sausage coming, came and sat near Mabel, watching her eat. He looked like a spectator at a tennis game. Mabel cut the extra sausage into five small bites and tossed them to him one at a time. Tripper expertly fielded each one.

Soos and Melody showed up, and though Wendy offered to cook for them, Soos said, "What you could really do, with Woodstick and all I kinda let the inventory thing slide. Could you take like an hour and do a quick one on what we got on the shelves? I'd appreciate that, dawgs! I'll fix breakfast for us and the kids. Mabel, have you eaten yet?"

"Nope!" Mabel said. "I could go for some pancakes."

* * *

And if that had led into the workday, it would have been just another typical sales day at the Shack.

It very nearly did. But though it seemed nearly almost normal, like the zombies in a bad movie, it wasn't quite.

Because while Dipper was noting how many postcards they had left on the revolving stand, and which ones needed to be replenished, something caught the corner of his eye.

"Who's that?" he asked Wendy. "We've got forty minutes until we open."

"Who's who?" Wendy asked.

"Somebody parked and got out of the car, I guess," Dipper said. "I think I saw a couple of people, but they're out of sight now."

Wendy crossed to the door and looked out through the diamond panes. "Nobody there now. You think we ought to keep a few of these USB memory sticks out? We got like dozen left—no, eleven."

"Maybe somebody would buy them for the logo—" Dipper started.

A knock at the door—not a tap, a solid knock—cut him off. He looked at Wendy, then strode over to the door. "We're not open yet!" he yelled. He could just see someone standing to the side of the door, just an elbow and hip, very close to the building.

From outside came a low, imploring word: "Mabel?"

Dipper grabbed the key and unlocked the door. "I said we're not—"

He threw open the door.

"Oh, man!" he exclaimed. "Wendy, come and—"

"Right here," she said from his side. "Huh. Nobody there?"

"You heard him, right?"

"Yeah, somebody asking for Mabel."

The two of them stood in the open doorway. No one was on the porch. No one was on the lawn, no cars in the lot. "A ghost?" Dipper asked.

Wendy took out her phone. "Looks like two of them," she said. "Step back a little."

She snapped a photo. And then Dipper saw them—wet footprints on the wood porch, off to the side. Two sets, four feet.

Toes almost touching the wall.

Definitely guy-sized.

And—the weirdest thing—just those four. No footprints leading up to or away from them.

Beyond the porch—nothing but a misty, drizzly day. Not a soul in sight.

Not a soul.


	6. Chapter 6

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15, 2017)**

* * *

**6: **_**Et Meurt par Rencontre**_

Four wet ovals still faintly showed on the porch when Ford brought his equipment up to the Shack. He clicked through every setting on his anomaly detector, his expression growing more and more frustrated. "Whatever is causing the disturbances," he said at last, "I can say categorically, it isn't ghosts. I can't find any trace of chronosphere disruption, either, which argues against time travel."

"Nothing, huh?" Wendy asked.

"Not nothing," Ford said. "But hardly enough to be called something."

"Open for business," Soos called from the gift shop. "No customers yet, though, dawgs."

"Thank you!" Mabel shouted. She, Wendy, and Dipper sat at the table with Ford. She said in a quieter voice, "If it's not nothing and it's not even something, what the heck is it? I can tell that Wendy and Dipper are really, really bothered about this. It's gotta have a name!"

"I'm sorry," Ford said. "I can detect some faint disturbance, but it's neither fish nor fowl. That is to say, it's like some small vibration in reality that's . . . off. Not quite in tune with the rest of the universe."

"What's it most like?" asked Dipper.

Ford smiled. "I like the way you think, Mason. A bit like Occam's Razor—cut away what it can't be, and you're left with what it might be. Well, let me see." He took out his pocket notebook and began to scribble in it. Dipper, sitting next to him, could see the column of words he wrote in his neat handwriting. It began

SPIRITS AND APPARITIONS

Ghosts, ancient

Ghosts, recent

Apparitions of the living

Crisis apparitions

Deathbed apparitions—

—and went on from there. The next page started with TELEPORTATION AND TIME DISPLACEMENT. Ford took ten of the small pages in all, and then he went back over the lists, placing an X beside everything that the anomaly detector had ruled out.

He wasn't left with much. Tulpas, Unfocused poltergeist-like events, Material memory visions, and a few others. "None of these are likely," he said, compiling a new list of possibilities. "The detector can't exclude them, though. And it may be something else. On the bright side, I've never heard of any of these things killing a person. However, some of them have been known to drive the percipient mad. The rain's stopping. Is there any chance of our visiting the site of the first event?"

"It'll take a couple of hours," Wendy said. "And Dipper and me are supposed to be at work."

"Soos!" Ford called. "A little favor?"

Dipper suggested approaching Ghost Falls from the south instead of from the north. "It means we have to hike through the geyser field," he said, "and it's a longer drive to begin with but I think the walking distance is shorter."

"Worth a shot," Wendy said. "Only thing, we'd have to cross over two streams, and they're both kinda far down in gorges they've cut. That will slow us down."

"Let's take the normal route," Ford said. "I suspect we'll actually save time by not having to bridge crevasses."

They borrowed Soos's Jeep and drove off-road for a mile or so, shortening the hiking distance. Then, unburdened by backpacks or camping gear, they made good time through the dripping forest. Ford, who kept himself in good condition, easily paced them, from time to time commenting on bits of the natural world that caught his attention: "Scotch broom. That's an invasive species."

"I'll report it to the Forestry Service," Wendy said. "Never noticed it."

"Probably brought in by a bird vector," Ford said.

They came out on the lightly forested rolling hills, and Ford said, "Oh, I know where we're heading. Stanley explored a cave, looking for gold near here."

"Ghost Falls, yeah," Dipper said. "That over there isn't a river, it's—"

"A beaver pond, I know," Ford told him. "It's a very old one. I surmise it once was much larger but the majority of it has silted in—that's the marshy area that borders the water."

"Yeah, now and then a torrential rain comes along and scours it out again," Wendy said. "Washes away the dam, and the beavers start all over again."

They leaped across the small creeks that fed into the southern edge of the beaver pond, then came close to the hot spring in its overhanging semi-cave. Wendy stopped them and looked around. "We were right around here, weren't we, Dipper?"

"I think we were" he said. He took her hand and led her a little way from Ford. "Here?"

"Yeah, and I had my back toward the bluff. You stand right there. I was like this and I saw whatever it was over your shoulder. So it was—right over there, Dr. P. Twenty, thirty yards away."

"Tell me where I'm near the spot." With his anomaly detector out Ford stalked the location the way a hunter might stalk a timid animal.

Wendy said, "Stop! OK, right in front of you, or real close to there."

Again, Ford turned on his anomaly detector and patiently clicked through all the settings. He moved a few steps, made an eighth of a turn, and then forward a little. "Must have been here," he said. "There's still a disturbance. But it's not classifiable. Another of those vague readings."

The meter showed the reading dropping off very rapidly—they seemed to be confined to a spot only about three feet in diameter. "Well," Ford said, "something was here—something that either had a physical or a quasi-physical existence. Unfortunately, it left only a trace. Now the only living things around aren't sentient—just the usual assortment of small rodents, bugs, and worms."

"We don't know that the thing Wendy saw was sentient either," Dipper pointed out.

"Wendy shook her head. "No, I got a feeling there was some kind of intelligence there," she said. "I mean, the doppelgänger didn't do much. Just stood looking at us and then raised her hand the way I showed you, her expression sort of pleading. And then she was gone."

"That suggests," Ford said, "that the manifestation might have had only a weak force behind it, one that could not hold onto a physical reality for very long."

They poked around for a few more minutes and Ford made a few photos of the site, but then they headed back. "We owe Soos something for this," Wendy said.

"We'll do overtime cleaning," Dipper suggested.

They talked very little on the walk back to the Jeep. Again, though the rain had passed through and ended, the tall forest trees dripped on them. Now and then a shaft of morning sunlight slanted in through the canopy, though, and the twittering songs of sparrows and towhees rose from all around them. Wendy could identify them, though to Dipper they sounded almost alike. Once she made them stop for a moment. "Hear that? It's a lazuli bunting, not common around here. Beautiful blue bird."

However, it was still only a bird, nothing paranormal, so after a couple of minutes they resumed their walking.

The Jeep had been left in a small open patch of ground among the tall trees, and they saw its metal and glass gleaming a little to the right. They veered toward it. As they came close, Dipper saw that the windows had fogged from the dampness in the air. And then he said, "Hey—look at the driver's side window!"

Someone or something had left a message for them.

* * *

Back in the Shack, Dipper and Wendy had to get busy at once, and not in a happy way—an unexpected double busload of tourists had rolled in, and Wendy hastily changed from hiking shoes to the flats she wore as Manager of the Mystery Shack. Dipper slipped onto the stool at one of the two registers, getting a "Whoo-ee, am I glad to see you!" from Gideon, who was manning the other register, a line of about ten customers shuffling and murmuring as they waited to check out.

Dipper checked his cash drawer and then said, "Ma'am, I can take you and the four folks behind you. That'll speed things along."

Though with the passing of the summer the references to the _Ghost Harassers_ web show had become sparse, they cropped up again—Dipper assumed that the segment had been cycled in again recently. "Is this the place where that ghost of a wizard haunts a closet? Can we see it?"

Soos had in fact transformed a broom closet in the Museum into the "HAUNTED CLOSET OF MYSTERY," and so far, no tourist had spotted that it wasn't the same closet featured in the online video. Dipper told them they could certainly go take a look at the closet, but warned them, "Don't expect to see a ghost. It's more often heard than seen."

Around noon the crush ebbed a little—many of the incoming tourists went to the snack bar for lunch—and Dipper told Gideon to take his break. Ulva, who had been bustling around keeping the shelves tidy and occasionally posing with tourists—she had no qualms about confiding, "I am a friendly werewolf!" and was so cute that lots of visitors, especially grumpy teen boys who usually wandered around complaining to their parents, "This is stupid!" loved to take selfies with her. Anyway, she and Gideon went to the staff room for their lunch.

Wendy, a little frazzled, asked Dipper how he was holding up. "OK," he said. "This is the way it's gonna run right up until the end of the month!"

"Ford says he wants to see us down in the lab when we get a chance. Break in twenty minutes?"

"That'll be good. Maybe we can catch a time to use the secret door while Soos takes the next crowd out on the Mystery Trail."

"I'll arrange with Teek to make us a couple of sandwiches. Roast beef?"

"Sounds good. Oh—have him make one for Grunkle Ford, too."

"Right. OK, time for another Museum tour in two minutes, so let me run and put in the order and then I'll bring another bunch in."

Gideon and Ulva returned at 12:30, when only a few tourists were browsing in the gift shop. Then at 12:37, carrying a bag with the sandwiches, chips, and drinks, Dipper and Wendy ducked downstairs and found Ford on the first level of the labs. "Here you are," he said. "I think I've deciphered the drawing."

He dimmed the lights and put a photo up on the largest computer monitor.

At first it looked almost abstract—a gray field with a few blotchy, muted colors—and on it a darker figure, drippy, as though a finger had sketched it in the fog on the Jeep window—which, to all appearances, was the case.

It showed a circle, somewhat flattened top to bottom, that was incomplete. The whole thing, as Dipper remembered, was about a foot in diameter, but on the right side it was broken for perhaps an inch. To the right of the break, an arrow had been drawn—focusing the viewer's attention not on the circle, but on the small void.

Drops of water had dripped down here and there, leaving little crooked dark trails through the mist on the glass.

"Does it remind you of anything?" Ford asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

"Kind of like a broken-circle tattoo," Wendy said. "There's a parlor over in Portland that sort of specializes in them—they look like they were drawn by a brush and in ink, not like a regular tat."

"That would most likely be an _ensō,_" Ford said.

"What's that?" Dipper asked.

Ford made a thoughtful little "Hmm" sound. "It's a Zen representation," he said. "It's an aid to meditation. The term is Japanese, and the figure is drawn with a brush, as in traditional Japanese calligraphy. It must be done very quickly, in one fluid movement. The circle may be closed or open. If open, it represents paradoxical ideas simultaneously. On the one hand, it is the idea of potential perfection, but also the notion that imperfection and transience are a source of beauty-_wabi-sabi,_ a world view that incorporates imperfection, lack of permanence, and incompleteness as part of the human condition and a source of inspiration and beauty."

"Oh, I thought it was just a tattoo thing," Wendy said.

"No, it's also something to focus on while meditating," Ford said. "However, this is not that."

Sometimes Dipper got a little impatient with Ford's tendency to take a sidetrack off the train of thought. "Then what is it?" he asked.

"Let me superimpose a photograph and you'll see," Ford said. He tapped the keyboard, and a photo faded in behind the shape sketched in the mist. Dipper recognized it as a satellite picture of—

"Gravity Falls!" he said.

"North is at the top, as usual in maps," Ford said. "I resized the photo to match the glyph."

The fit was perfect. The circle sketched in haze exactly overlaid the cliffs surrounding the Valley. And the break was the one spot where the Valley opened to the outside world—the place beneath the broken cliffs that still bore the impact shape of the ancient crashing spacecraft, the spot beneath the now-replaced old mining railway trestle had once stood.

"Somebody's telling us that we'll find the answer there," Wendy said. "Right at the entrance to the Valley."

"I suggest we go there this evening, after you're off work," Ford said. "You'd better eat and return to your jobs now. I'll prepare for an expedition to that spot later. I've never heard of a legend that the place is haunted, but just to be save, all three of us will be armed."

"Five," Dipper said. "Teek and Mabel will have to come along, too."

"What? I was trying to protect Mabel from distress," Ford said. "I don't think it's necessary that she accompany us—do you?"

"Yes," Dipper said. "I know Teek will want to come along too, but Mabel has to be there. That's necessary. It absolutely is."


	7. Chapter 7

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15, 2017)**

* * *

**7: Long Distance**

When the crowd of tourists began to thin out a few minutes after four that afternoon, Wendy said, "OK, Dip, take off. I'll hold down the register while you go do your thing with Dr. P."

Though fewer shoppers browsed the gift shop at that point, the ones that were left loitered, taking forever to make up their minds. It took a little while for Dipper to get a clear shot about opening the hidden door with no customers around, but he managed it and hurried down into the lab.

He found Grunkle Ford working at a computer terminal. He nodded at Dipper and briefly held up a hand in a silent request for Dipper to wait. He sat in one of the chairs and watched his great-uncle keyboarding away, going very fast considering he appeared to use only four fingers.

After a couple of minutes, Ford leaned back and said, "Annnd . . . send. There. Sorry, Dipper, I had to approve the budget for the coming academic year and let the department heads know what they all have to work with. I'm very happy that the Institute is doing so well—we've had to turn students away!—but the minutiae of operations sometimes is annoying. However, now that my desk is now clear for the time being—what do you want to talk about?"

"I've been thinking about my theory," Dipper said. "I'm not sure about this. I need some confirmation before we go charging in with weapons."

Stanford chuckled. "I hardly thought this would be like a Wild West showdown. I hadn't exactly intended to gallop in with guns blazing."

Dipper didn't smile. "Yes, but if my guess is wrong, we may need to do something like that," he said. "I don't want to be responsible for anybody's getting hurt or worse. And I'm afraid whatever happens is going to be especially hard on Mabel, whether I'm right or wrong. You know how she handles guilt."

"To my memory, she shrugs it off," Ford said with a smile.

"She doesn't, though," Dipper said. "It's just that she doesn't show it until she's alone. If she feels she's done something wrong, she gets really, really depressed. She's had a tough time lately—the whole Woodstick thing wasn't her fault at all, but now she's second-guessing herself. I think she'll get over this pretty soon—the guys letting her sing on stage with them helped her a whole lot. But I don't want to add to her worrying."

Ford leaned back in his chair interlacing his twelve fingers. "Interesting. Stanley always told me you were the worrywart in the family."

Dipper smiled. "Yeah, he's right. I always have been, but that's me. I have tons of practice dealing with it. Mabel's always just done what she feels like doing at the moment. But more and more, after the dust settles, she frets about it when something goes wrong because of her, or because she thinks it was somehow her fault. And one big problem is she thinks she's a lot more responsible for things that really are just plain accidents."

"What do you propose to do about it?" Ford asked.

Dipper took a deep breath. "Well, I think there's only one person that can offer useful advice. But I can't seem to get in touch with him any longer."

Ford's expression hardened. "You mean Bill Cipher."

Dipper nodded. For a few seconds everything was so quiet that he could hear the whirring of a hard drive in one of the computers, and the soft rush of air as the air conditioner cranked up.

Stanford leaned back, his swivel chair squeaking, and gazed at the ceiling. "I'm anticipating his transition into the physical realm at the end of this month. I'm hopeful but uneasy. Since your link to him has decayed, I assume you're suggesting calling in the boy."

"Billy Sheaffer, yes. But it may be too early to involve him. I don't want to hurt him, either."

Ford was silent for a few minutes, musing. Then he said, "I suppose you want to call him and ask him to try to contact Cipher in his mind."

Dipper's voice sounded tight, high, and nervous even to him: "Yeah, something like that. But the first times that Bill spoke to me inside my head, it really creeped me out. And Billy's not used to it."

"Hmm. Is the Sheaffer boy suggestible?" Ford asked.

"I . . . don't know," Dipper said. He frowned a little as he thought. "He has a strong imagination, if that means anything. I've played video games with him and listened to him talk about stuff that he's excited about. I mean, you know, in a video game Billy really gets into it. Talks for the character he's playing and all. And he's the same way about topics that interest him. Dinosaurs. Ancient Egypt. When he talked about stuff like that, I could tell that he was putting himself back there in the Jurassic period, or back watching the Pyramids being built."

"That indicates suggestibility," Ford said. "Very well. He knows me. I don't know if he'd trust me—I behaved rather badly toward him when he once played the piano, a tune that has bad association for me. I think I frightened him."

"I really don't know," Dipper admitted. "He's never talked to me about you. But what do you have in mind?"

"Hypnotism," Ford said. "I've had training in the field and am a member of the ASCH. If I can put him under, I can walk him through attempting to communicate with Cipher and can leave a post-hypnotic suggestion that he forget the experience."

"That might work," Dipper said. "Would you have to be there? With him, I mean?"'

"No, not if we could do a two-way video talk with him. What do you call it?"

"Skype," Dipper said. "We can do that."

"Very well. Call him and see if you can persuade him to agree."

"OK," Dipper said. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but something that he didn't think it was right to avoid.

* * *

Billy Sheaffer was surprised to get the call—he and Dipper texted each other pretty often, and he was hoping to come up in a week or so to watch Dipper and Wendy's wedding, but they rarely ever face-timed. Still, he was happy to talk.

"Listen," Dipper said, "can you get like an hour to talk to us, privately? Without being interrupted?"

"Yeah, I think so," Billy said. "I've just been hanging around, reading and stuff. Mom's taking my sisters for haircuts and then to shop for school clothes. I think they'll be gone until about six o'clock."

"Are you alone?" Dipper asked. He couldn't see much through Billy's phone camera, but he recognized the background—Billy was in their living room.

Billy said, "Um, yeah. I'm not supposed to answer the door if anybody rings the bell. I'm supposed to call your Mom if I need help or anything."

Dipper smiled. His own mother wouldn't have left him and Mabel at home alone at Billy's age. However, Mrs. Sheaffer was more trusting, and that was a bit of good luck.

Ford spoke to Billy, who didn't really seem to remember the event with the piano, and Billy came to understand what they were asking of him. "So Dipper needs me to try to talk to Bill Cipher?" he asked. "And you want to help me get into the right, uh, what is it?"

"Mind set," Dipper said.

"Yeah, that. And this is because Mabel's in trouble?"

"She could be," Dipper said. "That's what we're trying to find out." For a while there, Billy had held a pretty strong crush on his sister.

"Um. And I need to set up my laptop for the call and put it beside my bed and just lie there and follow your uncle's suggestions?"

"That's all," Ford said. "It'll be a big favor for Mabel. And afterward it won't bother you."

"Um. OK," Billy said.

Dipper set up the two-way communication on Ford's computer. In a few minutes they saw Billy's room—Dipper's old room, in fact—and then the boy's laptop computer was moved to a bedside table, so the picture focused on the bed and pillow. "Can you hear me OK?" Billy asked.

"Fine," Dipper told him. "Can you hear us?"

"Yeah, good."

"All right," Ford said. "Lie down on the bed and make yourself comfortable. Just listen to me . . . ."

* * *

Dipper sat quietly and listened to Ford's soft, reassuring voice. Billy turned out to be a good subject for hypnosis. Within minutes, he lay quietly on the bed, head turned toward the laptop, eyes closed, his breathing even and slow.

After a few minutes, Ford said, "Billy, your right arm feels very, very heavy. It's so heavy that you can't raise it. Try to lift it now."

Billy obviously struggled, but it was as though his arm really had become ponderously heavy. The bed even seemed to sag as he tried to raise his arm.

"Relax," Ford said. "Your arm is normal now. It feels completely normal. Raise it up to be sure. That's right. Now let it fall again and just relax. You're comfortable and safe. You're asleep, but you can hear me. You're feeling very well and happy. Now when I tell you, you'll be able to hear your friend Dipper, too."

To Dipper, Ford said, "He's in a deep trance. I'll turn him over to you. If he should become agitated, I'll step in. Ready?"

Dipper nodded. "All right," Ford said to Billy. "Here's your friend Dipper. Listen to him. As long as you listen to him, you'll be fine, and you'll be safe and comfortable. The next voice you hear will be Dipper's."

"Hi, Billy," Dipper said. "Listen carefully and do what I tell you." He described the Mindscape and told Billy to call out to Bill Cipher.

"Look for a yellow triangle," Dipper said.

"Yellow triangle," Billy repeated in a dreamy voice. "Bill Cipher. It's funny. It's like my house is all black and white. Like a real old movie."

"Look around," Dipper said. "Don't get up. Just imagine you're looking around your house. The triangle might be small."

"OK. Uh. Does it float?"

"Yes," Dipper said. "Do you see him?"

"Um, I think so. Hello? Bill Cipher?" A pause, and then Billy asked, "He says it's him. Did you hear him?"

"No," Dipper said. "You have to ask him to let you talk for him."

In a few seconds, Ford gasped as Billy smiled, his good eye opened, and his voice became high-pitched: "Oh, man, it's good to glimpse the physical world again! Hiya, Pine Tree! Sixer, long time, no seize! Ah-ha-ha! Don't worry, I'm being a good little polygon these days, trying to make up for being bad before. Good to see ya. What's up? Give me the low-down!"

"Bill," Dipper said, "I know you remember Weirdmageddon."

* * *

The talk lasted for twenty minutes. Then Ford took over, giving Billy the gentle suggestion that he would remember only a pleasant dream and not the details of what they had spoken about. Bill Cipher signed off with a sarcastic laugh and needled Ford with "See ya real soon, Sixer" and Dipper with "Hey, Pine Tree, be sure to give Red my best. Or your best, if you're man enough! Ah-ha-ha-ha!"

And then it was just a sleepy Billy Sheaffer, murmuring responses as Ford led him out of the trance.

When they were sure that Billy was fully awake and that he wasn't bothered or worried by what he had been through, Dipper told him he was looking forward to seeing him at the end of the month, and they said goodbye.

"Well," Ford said as the screen went dark, taking out a handkerchief and patting his face with it, "that was an experience I would not care to repeat. And this coming encounter may be much more dangerous than I had anticipated."

"Dangerous or not, at least it's going to be real unpleasant," Dipper said. "But we've got to do it."

"What time is it? All right, the business day ends in less than an hour. I suggest that we all gather up in your room immediately after the Mystery Shack closes. We'll need to strategize. All of us—you, Wendy, and especially Mabel—will have to be prepared for what we may confront."

"If they show up," Dipper said, "do you think they'll be—uh, aggressive?"

"Mason," Stanford said heavily, "I'm afraid the only way we're likely to discover that—is to show up and see what happens."


	8. Chapter 8

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15, 2017)**

* * *

**8: Where It All Went Down**

As soon as work ended, Mabel, Teek, Dipper, and Wendy gathered in the attic and Dipper explained his theory about what was going on. Despite his trying to ease Mabel into realizing the possible situation, her reaction was bad. "You're saying it's all my fault!"

"No," Wendy said. "Mabel, listen—it's like a ghost of those things, Dipper thinks. It's not your fault at all. And anyway, you didn't even know where you were, or what was going on."

Teek, with his arm around Mabel, didn't say anything. However, Mabel did: "But—you think—the ghost of herself that Wendy saw, the dopplegänger or whatever, was—that was the ghost of the Wendy double? The horrible one that you told me about?"

"I don't know for sure," Dipper said. "I just think that it might be. And that must have something that Bill Cipher put in the bubble, not you—"

"It _was_ me," Mabel wailed. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you guys in Mabel Land, but if I did—I th-thought if there was a W-Wendy who would l-love you—you'd stay with me—"

Dipper tried to comfort her: "Hey, hey, Sis, it's all right, really. Remember, you're the one who got us all out of Mabel Land."

"Yeah, you popped Bill's bubble," Wendy said.

Mabel nodded but wouldn't look up. "Dipper said she was made out of _bugs_," she mumbled.

Teek blinked. "Out of _what_?" He had not heard the whole story of Mabel Land.

"I guess she had to be made out of _something_," Wendy told Mabel. "Come on. You didn't, like, deliberately make a Wendy out of bugs yourself, did you?"

Biting her bottom lip, Mabel shook her head. "I just kind of thought _If Dipper comes here, let him have a Wendy who loves him_," she said miserably. "'Cause when I woke up there and found out that what I wished for came true, I was just so lonely. That's why I—oh, my God. Dippy Fresh!"

Dipper held up the hat that Teek had retrieved from Mabel's car. He turned it backward and it fit better. "Yeah," he said, snatching the cap off again. "Him."

"But he must still be like twelve years old," Wendy said. "That's why you and Teek thought Dipper was slouching down when you saw him in your car. Dippy"—she stopped herself and then continued, "I mean the other guy wasn't as tall, 'cause he's still a kid."

"And I don't know for sure," Dipper said, "but the two guys who came and knocked on the gift shop door—I just barely saw them, but those might be the same two you first called up when we went into Stan's mind, chasing Bill Cipher."

"But they're characters in a movie," Mabel said. "They weren't real people to begin with!"

"Neither is the substitute you made up to replace me," Dipper said through clenched teeth. "OK, I looked it up on the Internet Movie Data Site. Here you go: _Dream Boys High, _1985\. A high-school jock and his musician buddy team up to straighten out school bullies and in the process become every girl's dream boy. Starring Burley Clarkston and Mattson Dexter as Xyler Crestwood and Craz Monckley."

"I never learned about the actors. I just knew the movie from one of Mom's old videotapes," Mabel said.

"It's also available on DVD," Dipper said. "Or it used to be. Anyway, I looked up the actors. Clarkston's a TV director now, and Monckley has an oldies music show on satellite radio." He showed Mabel a couple of pictures.

"Ew!" she said. "They're so old!"

"It's been more than thirty years, Mabes," Wendy said. "Actually, they're not so bad-looking now." Clarkston, a little heavier than when he played surfing jock Xyler, had lost a lot of his hair, but he was still recognizable as the teen, as they used to say, heart-throb. Dexter hadn't gained as much weight, but he, too, looked different—hair much shorter and gray, combed back from his forehead, and he wore glasses.

"The point is," Dipper said, "these are the real people. Xyler and Craz are just kind of reflections of them. You didn't recreate the actors when you were in Mabel Land—you recreated the roles they played in that one movie."

"OK," Wendy said. "So they apparently asked to meet up with us in a few minutes out near the split bluffs. We don't know what they want, but we do know they're dangerous."

"No," Mabel said. "They couldn't be, because I made them up to be all nice and—"

"Listen," Dipper said. "This is important. We have to warn you. Grunkle Ford has dealt with this before, when he was traveling in the Multiverse. This is serious. If I touch that guy—" he made an effort to say the name—"Dippy Fresh, we'll both be annihilated."

"No," Mabel said again. "He was just a—a—"

"An improved version of me," Dipper said, not managing to hold back a tone of bitterness.

"Brobro," Mabel said. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings when—I'm really sorry."

Teek gave Dipper an imploring look that said _Don't make her feel worse._

Dipper took a long breath. "It's OK, I forgive you. But—Mabel—I mean, how would you like it if it was the other way around? What if I was in the bubble and created Serious Mabel, who—who wore glasses and—and was interested in conspiracy theories and paranormal mysteries—and I thought she'd be—never mind."

Now tears were spilling from Mabel's eyes. "What if you thought she was better than me," she almost whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just missed you so much. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right Mabel," Wendy said gently. "Nothing's gonna change between you and Dipper. Only you have to understand—these things don't belong in the real world. We have to—to deal with them."

"Kill them, you mean," Mabel said. "Oh, I can't! Killing Dippy Fresh would be like shooting one of my pets. I can't do that. Don't ask me to do that."

"We didn't mean to shoot them," Dipper said. "Grunkle Ford's ready to try that if he has to—but he's hoping that won't be necessary. We all hope that. But we do have to talk to them, if they show up, and find out what they want. Remember, though, we can't let them touch us."

"If the fake Wendy touches you, you'll both die?" Mabel asked Dipper.

He shook his head. "Not me, probably. Grunkle Ford doesn't think it works like that. But if she touches Wendy, or if—the other guy touches me—yeah, we'd pretty much both be wiped out."

"So I can touch them?" Mabel asked.

"Probably not," Wendy said. "See, you created them, so they're all kind of a part of you. Dr. P doesn't know what might happen, but he says it's too dangerous to risk."

"Maybe we can—I don't know, help them somehow," Dipper said. "We have to try, anyway."

Mabel nodded. "OK. I'll try. Just—I won't take one of Grunkle Ford's guns, OK? I couldn't shoot them. I'm sorry. I just couldn't."

* * *

They pulled off the road out of the Valley directly under the metal framework that had replaced the old ruined trestle. Grunkle Ford got out first with his anomaly detector and scanned. Then he called the other four out.

Teek was the only one among them who had not been present for Weirdmageddon, and Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel were the only ones who had been in Mabel Land.

Teek carried a quantum destabilizer pistol. Wendy had the special axe that she had inherited from her ancestor Archibald Corduroy. Dipper, after serious thought, carried—a copy of Journal 3.

Ford had a double holster with two quantum destabilizer pistols, plus a sleeker version of the original quantum rifle slung around his shoulders. "Nothing to report," he said as they gathered on the side of the road. "Just the normal background weirdness signal for Gravity Falls. Yet this is the spot they tried to point out."

"Hello?" Mabel called. "Dippy Fresh? Are you there? It's Mabel!"

Nothing but the bright, flute-like song of meadowlarks answered her. "There's something wrong," Ford said.

"Maybe we somehow got the wrong place?" said Teek.

"This was unquestionably the spot something indicated on the sketch," Ford said. "Is it a time limitation? Can they appear only at the witching hour? Some disjunction between temporal dimensions?"'

Mabel said, "No, that doesn't make sense. In Mabel Land, it was always daytime! These aren't, you know, ghosty ghosts. If Dipper's right, they're my, um, my creations. Or something."

"We're not in the right place," Dipper said suddenly.

"Dude," Wendy said, "You saw it yourself. The sketch and the map of the Valley lined up exactly. We're where they wanted us to be."

Dipper tilted his head back. "No. We're _under _where they wanted us to be."

"Oh!" Mabel said. "The bubble was up where the old railroad trestle was!"

Ford, who at the time of Mabel Land's creation had been golden, but not in a good way, had never seen the prison bubble. "Up there?" he asked, gazing straight overhead. "How can we possibly get up there?"

"There's a way," Wendy said. "The old mining road. It's in rotten shape, but we can probably make it in the Jeep, if Soos will loan it to us."

Of course Soos would—he got enough of the story from them when they made the request to volunteer to go with them. "We went in for Mabel once," he said. "We can totally do it again!"

"There's no bubble this time, Soos," Mabel said gently. "But thank you."

"Aw, Hambone, I really want to help," the big guy said.

Dipper said, "Soos, you're helping plenty by letting us use the Jeep. Come on, man. You're married and a dad now. You have responsibilities the rest of us don't. You wait here. We'll call if we need you."

"Seriously?" Soos asked.

Mabel put her hand on Soos's shoulder. "We promise, Mr. Mystery," she said with a grin. "Count on it!"

"Thanks," Soos whispered. "Wait a minute, I'll get you guys a baseball bat. Because you never can tell, dawgs."

They took the bat, and Wendy took the wheel—Ford admitted he was not comfortable driving a Jeep, and Dipper said she was the best driver they had. Soon they wound up a disused road that Dipper had been on twice—once on a bus driven by Soos and chased by a gigantic Li'l Gideon robot, and once in a hot-wired former police car driven at top speed by an underage Wendy with no license and a total lack of driver's training.

It took a while because the road climbed the bluffs in a series of hairpin turns and switchbacks. At one point, Wendy took a left turn down a washed-out old track that stopped at the adit to an old mine. "We can cut through here and come out where the trestle was," she said. "Track spur used to come out here. We'll have to go on foot, but it isn't far."

"Spooky," Teek said.

"Beats having to jump a gorge in the Jeep," Dipper assured him. "I've got my flashlight."

"I have mine," Ford said.

"Let's go," Mabel whispered.

Though the mine had not been used in more than a century—the miners' inadvertent freeing of at least one long-preserved pterosaur had been the proximate cause of closure and abandonment—the short tunnel wasn't in terrible shape. Solid stone arched overhead, and although the old tracks had been removed long ago, the footing was uneven, muddy in spots where rain runoff had flowed in, but walkable. They encountered only a few rockfalls, and these were all minor enough to clamber over. Better yet, the tunnel stretched for only about a football field's length and was short enough for them to see daylight way at the far end.

The only alarming feature was a colony of eyebats clinging to the ceiling. They showed up when Ford shone his flashlight up. "They're multiplying again," he observed. The creatures hung like bunches of bizarre grapes, creeping away as the beam of light disturbed them.

"Never saw those before we moved to Gravity Falls," Teek said.

"I found a related species in New Mexico," Ford told him. "Much smaller than these, though. Only six-inch wingspans."

They emerged from the tunnel and found themselves in a stand of pines. The sun shone from the western sky, but they still had at least a couple of hours of daylight left. Dipper said, "I remember this. The old trestle would be right below us. This is where I jumped from that time the Gideon bot had captured Mabel."

"I've got my grappling hook with me," Mabel assured him.

"Grab me if we fall," Dipper said with a smile.

They emerged and looked down.

At a quick glance, the old trestle seemed to remain there—but it was only the metal frame for the big red WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS sign the town had put up after demolishing the crumbling, dangerous old trestle.

No bubble.

"When we came up here during Weirdmageddon, the prison bubble hung right there," Dipper said. "It filled the whole gap."

"Just the sign now," Wendy said. "Where are they?"

Ford had stopped off to the left and studied his anomaly detector. In a tight, level voice, he said, "Something's happening."


	9. Chapter 9

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15, 2017)**

* * *

**9: View from a Cliff**

When the adrenaline was flowing, when fear spiked and her attention centered on saving herself or her brother, or both, Mabel lost her fear of heights. When she was more anxious than afraid or angry, she found it again.

"Oh, my gosh!" she said, gazing wide-eyed out over the nearly five hundred-foot drop to the Valley floor. "Teek, hang onto me!"

"I got you," Teek, who was already holding her hand, said.

The sight was awe-inspiring. The ground far below looked blue-hazed by distance. Already the afternoon shadows reached out long and darkening, claiming Gravity Falls for the coming night. A farm truck below already had its headlights on as it crept along the ribbon of highway like a beetle with shiny eyes.

Up here the cooler air gusted in breezes that ruffled their hair and tugged at their clothes. The sun had sunk lower, and off to the west the cliffs darkened steadily as they lost the light. Dipper shivered a little—he wasn't afraid of heights, but he dreaded that his sister and his fiancée might stand in danger. That made the gusts feel even cooler, raising goosebumps on his arms.

Stanford stood a little out in front of the rest of the group, left foot advanced a little, gazing downward at the instrument he held at waist level. He switched on his anomaly detector and methodically turned the dial that shifted its detection range from ghosts and haunts to time distortions and other weirdness. The device made a very faint electronic hum, like a bee trapped beneath a thick glass jar. Finally he paused, intently studying the readout.

"What is it showing?" Dipper, his tone urgent, asked Stanford.

"Definite but irregular anomalies in the N/R range," Ford said. "I can't see anything visually, but the detector indicates a vortex of paranormal energies quite close to us. There near the very edge of the drop. Everyone watch carefully but remember—stay back!"

Wendy held her axe at the ready. "I don't see anything at all!"

"The signals are weak. They may be facing difficulties in manifesting. Wait, wait—there's a slight increase in E/M pulses. It may be trying to create a physical manifestation now."

Dipper squinted. A vague shape moved, or was it his imagination? No, he saw something like the ghost of a shoulder-high whirlwind that wavered and danced at the edge of the cliff. It had very little color, more like a faint and transparent gray than anything else, and except for not fading or moving in the breeze, it might have been a thin puff of smoke drifting in air.

"Dipper!" The voice came faint, but it was recognizable as Wendy's. In the slanting late-afternoon light, within the paranormal disturbance an indistinct blur of green and red shimmered but did not solidify. Only imagination could shape the hazy colors into a girl's form. "Dipper! You're all grown up. We can finally be together, man!"'

"Over my dead body!" the real Wendy yelled in a murderous voice. The unformed figure actually flinched, flickering, and then it fell silent.

"Stay back," Ford urged. "Remember, Wendy—the slightest touch means mutual annihilation."

Off to the left, Mabel had sunk down to earth and, hunkered low, she gripped the long grass with both hands, like a girl riding a wild horse bareback and hanging onto its mane. Teek knelt beside her, his arm around her. "Hang on," he said. "You can do this."

"I shouldn't have looked down," she gasped. "I think I'm gonna barf like a Gnome!"

"Ride it out," Dipper advised his sister. "The shape is fading away."

"Losing energy," his grunkle said, glancing at the anomaly detector's readout. "It takes considerable power to break through the paranormal barrier, even in Gravity Falls. I don't think they can take physical form, or if they can, they can't hold it for long. There, the readings are down to background level with just random ticks."

"Mabel! Call you-know-who," Dipper said.

"Voldemort?" she asked, sounding surprised. "Snape's way hunkier!"

"No!" Dipper said. "I mean, you know. My double. The one you made."

"Oh, him." Taking a deep breath, Mabel yelled, "Hey, Dippy Fresh! If you can hear me, please come talk to us! This is Mabel!"

"The energy's picking up again. There's another attempt to coalesce," Stanford said, staring at the anomaly detector screen. "A little further away. Right there, ten yards ahead."

That put it perilously close to the dizzying drop, maybe out in thin air. Dipper had brought the trucker's hat that Teek had found, which seemed real enough. He tossed it spinning, and it landed not far from the edge. "Come get your pine-tree cap!" he yelled.

The blur this time was blue and red. "Flip-a-dip, Mabel!" The voice had a wavering quality, the tone a little off, sounding like a faint vibrating echo came half an instant after the words. "Seriously uncool. Help us, Sis!"

"Big spike in energy! Something just happened," Ford said.

"Yeah, man," Wendy told him. "The hat disappeared!"

The vanishing hat seemed momentarily to spark the energies. Just for a heartbeat, there flickered Dippy Fresh, a slight figure and quite short, the cap worn backwards, purple shades with green frames hiding his eyes, wearing a red tee shirt and a navy vest (though adorned with yellow lightning bolts), long gray jeans instead of shorts, high-top white sneakers—and carrying a yellow skateboard cradled under his arm.

"Now there's a rapid drop-off in psychic forces. I'm losing him," Ford said.

"Help us, please!" the specter said, his voice fainter and more distorted than before. "Mabel! We're dying!"

And then he vanished, the gray whirlwind dissipating instantaneously. Ford waited for a couple of minutes before saying, "Completely faded now. No signal."

"I hate him," Dipper said.

Wendy put her hand on his shoulder. "Dude, no," she said quietly and in a gentle voice. "Did you see him? He's only a kid, man."

_Ouch! _"He's—never mind. Not now," Dipper said, his jaw tense. "What do we do, Grunkle Ford?"

"Let's wait fifteen minutes," Ford said. "I'll keep monitoring. They may make another attempt to come through."

"Why are they dying?" Mabel asked. She still crouched in the grass, her eyes closed. "Don't let go of me, Teek!"

"I won't," he said.

"I don't know the answer to your question," Ford said. "They're not alive in the usual sense. They're not ghosts, they're more like—like psychic imprints. Temporary three-dimensional shapes formed from psychic energies. There must be some physical component, too, but that's not coming across the barrier. We're only getting a kind of reflection."'

"Do they know what they are?" Dipper asked.

"Difficult to say," Ford murmured. "Perhaps. They seem to have at least a consciousness of their peril."

"Yeah, and that fake me still has a yen for my guy," Wendy said. "We ought to get some things straight!"

Fifteen minutes passed, and then two more. Ford then gave in. "We'd better get back down while we still have good light. Let's go."

This time the eyebats in the mine tunnel chittered and scrabbled, claws on stone, overhead. Perhaps they sensed the coming sunset. Stanford led the four others to the Jeep, helped Mabel in—she was still shaky on her legs—and Wendy got behind the steering wheel. "Everybody buckle up and hold on. It's worse going down than driving up!"

Dipper, sitting beside her in the front seat, remained silent and brooding until they were halfway down.

The fact that he so clearly recalled a moment from his first summer in the Falls surprised him and appalled him a little. It was a sharp and hurtful moment, though—and it had happened not long after Dipper, then twelve, had realized he was falling hard for Wendy, who was then fifteen. Wendy, who was the chief mischief-finder for her group of friends, took them to explore the Dusk2Dawn convenience store on the edge of town.

The place had been long closed and stood abandoned and condemned—though come to that, in 2017 it _still_ stood, and the two ghosts that still hung around inside it seemed to have the power to stave off the bulldozers indefinitely. Five years earlier, the gang had found the place locked up tight. And Robbie couldn't force the doors. Dipper volunteered to get them in, and Robbie had sneered at him—"I can't get in, but I'm sure Junior here is gonna break it down like Hercules!"

Then it happened. Wendy, who thought he and Mabel were thirteen, mainly because Dipper had lied to her, defended him in the most painful way possible: "Come on, leave him alone. He's just a little kid."

_Just a little kid. _At the moment that had crushed him.

Now that he was nearly eighteen, he found the wound still there under the surface, still painful. Just a little kid. And what made it worse, seeing Dippy Fresh, his mirror image, had given him the exact same impression. _That's exactly how I looked to Wendy back then. No wonder she tried to let me off the hook later that summer._

Now the age difference didn't matter. But though the fake Wendy hadn't even appeared clearly, he wondered—_Would she look like a kid to me now?_

After a good ten minutes of silent fretting, Dipper took a long breath and then said to Wendy, "What you said about Dippy Fresh back there, you know. You're right. He's just a kid. But the fake Wendy—she kind of is, too. Four fingers on each hand. She's just fifteen years old. They haven't aged."

"They wouldn't," Ford said from the shotgun position. "Being psychic constructs, they're less like us and more like intangible bundles of awareness and volition that can, under certain conditions, take physical form They really aren't subject to the normal flow of time. That makes Mabel's question apposite: Why are they dying, if time has no hold on them?"

"Where did the energy come from when they first got, uh, made?" Teek asked from the back seat.

"Excellent question," Ford said.

"Proud of you, Teek," Mabel said, sounding less nauseated now that they were on the way down and the curves in the road had flattened out a little. "You impressed my nerdy Grunkle!"

"The energy came from Bill Cipher, " Dipper said flatly. "It was Weirdmageddon, Teek. I know you don't have any conception of how that was, but it was wild, crazy. All the rules of nature got canceled out. The sky ripped open. Trembley Falls turned into blood and flowed up into the sky. Time stopped. Things just spontaneously transformed into other things, and that even happened to people. I remember the bell in the courthouse tower came to life. Soos says Abuelita turned into a reclining chair—but she was still alive and still herself inside. Crazy stuff."

"Yeah, me and Dip temporarily became a couple of birds," Wendy said. "That was awful."

"Uncontrolled, alien, extra-dimensional energies were flooding in through the rift from Outside," Ford said, his tone indicating the capital letter. "Kinds of forces unknown in our dimension, replacing and distorting the ordinary laws of physics. Cipher called on them to perform his apparent magic. That's how he created his fortress, the Fearamid."

"That was like an Egyptian pyramid deal," Mabel told her boyfriend. "Huge and with all these tunnels and chambers running through it. It was just like the Great Pyramid, practically, except it flew!"

Wendy guided the Jeep around a final sharp curve and for a moment they passed behind a thin, small waterfall as the road hugged a cut into the face of the cliff. "Yeah, but that wasn't just magicked from nothing. It was made out of rocks and stuff," she said. "It didn't just come from thin air."

'And it all went back to normal after Grunkle Stan punched Bill out in the Mindscape," Dipper added. "We were inside the Fearamid Teek! Like Mabel says it was made of stones, but it hovered a hundred feet in the air. When Bill got wiped out, it descended, the rocks shedding off it as it crashed down. It finally set us on the ground, and the big rocks just sank into the earth all around us."

Ford added, "Our normal physics returned, and everything pretty much went back to the way it was before Weirdmageddon. Perhaps these things we just saw lingered because Bill Cipher gave them, I don't know—a tiny spark of consciousness, self-awareness? They may have been lying dormant for the past five years. I don't know why they're trying to re-emerge now."

"Bill Cipher," Mabel said in a soft voice, "is going away."

* * *

To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15-16, 2017)**

* * *

**10: A Place in the Woods**

From Alfheim to Zarzusa, all across the globe, you will find legendary Places of Power. In these spots, eldritch forces gather, and for all any of us know, dance to rave music, play Truth or Dare, and bake brownies. Or maybe they do other stuff, like punching holes in reality, creating portals to infinite worlds, or powering monstrous beings.

Some say that these scattered and concealed locations are linked by invisible channels of paranormal power called ley lines. These are absolutely straight (yeah, the world's an oblate spheroid, but still) and link all of the Earth's centers of paranormality. You could conceivably instantly travel from Gravity Falls to Camelot, taking the ley of least resistance.

Or maybe you'd just disintegrate, or maybe project yourself to a realm where only two dimensions exist, and you'd wind up as a geometrical shape that others could perceive only as a straight line. Even if you're a circle. Conceivably, you could materialize to near a supernova, and that would end your trip real fast, wouldn't it?

On the other hand, you might just want to use the power thrumming through the ley lines to recharge the waning powers of fading apparitions.

That's what Stanford thought, anyway.

"Uh," Dipper said, "is that what we want to do?"

"You and I should decide that," Stanford said. "It's too painful for your sister. And Wendy is too protective of you. I'm afraid that you and I are the ones who must determine the course of action."

"I don't want to put Wendy in danger," Dipper insisted. "Or Mabel."

"I'd say that our best chance of avoiding that is to find out why these creatures are in need. They fear they're on the verge of death. When Bill Cipher is no longer even partially in the Mindscape, they might indeed fade out of existence. I surmise that they are drawing on the remnants of his power. If we can give them access to just enough power, we might allow them to communicate with us without taking full physical form." He yawned. It was nearly midnight, and Ford had experimented with possible alternate ways of communicating with the false Wendy or Xyler and Craz or—last resort—Dippy Fresh.

None worked out.

"That seems risky, but if you think it has a chance, let's try it," Dipper said.

"I understand your point," Ford said. "I wouldn't ask you to put yourself in unnecessary danger. I'll let you know how it turns out."

Dipper began, "We'll have to—wait, what? I'm going with you!"

Ford shook his head. "Mason, the simulacrum of yourself that Mabel created is mortally dangerous to you, but not to me. I won't run the risk of your being touched by him. Who knows? The creatures may _want_ annihilation—a quick end, as opposed to wasting away."

"You just said it. No one knows that, not even you," Dipper said. "And it might be as dangerous to you as it is to us. You need backup."

Firmly, Stanford insisted, "I plan to go armed."

"Grunkle Ford, there are four of them who might attack simultaneously. And since they think they're dying already, you can't scare them. I'm sorry, I'm coming along. You can't keep me from being there for you."

Stanford leaned back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and polished them with a handkerchief for a long time. Finally, very softly, he said, "Mason, I'm not like Stanley. I—I'm not a hugger."

Dipper laughed. "Neither is he," he said. "He might give me noogies if somehow I've impressed him, but about the only hugs I've had from him were group ones—when Soos, Wendy, and Mabel pin him down so I can get in there."

Ford nodded and for a long time remained silent. Dipper decided he would wait his great-uncle out. When Ford did speak, his hoarse tone surprised Dipper—_He's on the verge of tears!_ "Mason—Dipper. You know, I can't remember our dad ever hugging either Stan or me. Mom sometimes, but never Dad." He sighed. "When you have children, Dipper, hug them often. Teach them to show affection. All I can say—" he put the glasses back on and honked his nose on the handkerchief—"Is that I am very, very proud of you at this moment."

"Then I go?" Dipper asked.

"Promise me that you'll obey me if I give you an order. No matter if you think I'm wrong. No matter if you think I'm under some threat. Promise me that you'll obey my orders immediately and without questioning them, promise me as man to man. Then I'll agree to let you accompany me."

Dipper said, "I—"

Ford held up a six-fingered hand to cut him off. "Hold both your hands up so I can see them," he said. "Then promise."

Dipper shook his head, but he had to grin. "Here. No crossed fingers. I promise that I'll obey any order you give me. Even if you tell me to run away while you hold them off."

"Very well," Ford said. "Then you may come with me to attempt communication with these entities."

"Why did you even think I might cross my fingers?" he asked.

"Well," Ford said with a wry smile and a shrug, "you _have_ hung around Stanley for many years now!"

* * *

They got down to planning.. Ford had looked up the weather forecast. "It's supposed to be sunny and hot tomorrow," he said. "The forecast is for a high of 88 degrees and a low of 52. Sunrise is at 5:40 AM. I propose to leave the house here at about sunrise and walk out to the place where the effigy stood. We should arrive there no later than six in the morning. I have a portable device of Fiddleford's that I'll operate."

"What does it do?" Dipper asked.

Stanford replied slowly: "It, um, well, think of it as an energy pump. Tonight I'll have it running to charge itself up with paranormal energy. Then in the clearing, we'll reverse the pump—I'm sorry, that's not really how it works but the analogy isn't too far wrong—and make a supply of power available to the, um, constructs. If anything will let them communicate with us, that should do it."

"What are you most afraid of?" Dipper asked. "No crossed fingers, OK?"

Soberly, flatly, Stanford said, "I'm afraid without Bill Cipher to rein them in, they may run riot. I'm letting you carry a destablilizer pistol, Dipper. If it looks as if they're breaking free—if they're threatening us in any way, or if you even suspect they are, then you must shoot the device. Destroy it and you'll cut off the source of power. And even if you think I'm too close, you still have to destroy the device. We've had one Weirdmageddon. I don't want a second one to break out. Especially if it's my fault."

"OK," Dipper said. "I understand. Uh—do you want to go out right now?"

"Tempting," Ford said. "But no. We need daylight. I want you to try to get some sleep tonight."'

"I'll try," Dipper said. But he didn't promise. He couldn't promise.

* * *

Dipper and Wendy would ordinarily go for a run somewhere around seven. He wrote a quick note to her:

* * *

Dear Wendy,

I've gone with Grunkle Ford. He thinks he might have a way to let one or more of the creatures to communicate. If all goes well, I should be back by 7:30. If we're not back by then, try calling me. If you can't get an answer, then listen for my voicemail greeting. That will tell you where we are.

But be careful. Ford's scared of what might happen, and that scares me. Don't worry—we're going armed, and if we have to run, we are going to run as fast as we can (and you know I'm fast!). I love you, Wendy. Watch out for Mabel, please. If all goes well, I'll see you both tomorrow morning at breakfast, and we'll talk it out then. Wish us luck.

Love,

Dipper

* * *

There. In the morning he'd fold that and leave it on his pillow for Wendy to find. For the time being he put it beneath his phone on the bedside table, so he wouldn't forget it, and then turned in for seven hours of tossing, turning, and occasional catnaps spiced with bad dreams. Many of them featured the horrible Dippy Fresh.

* * *

At five-fifteen, Dipper got up, showered, and dressed for a hike. He tiptoed downstairs in his sock feet, carrying his hiking boots. He went out onto the family porch, with its sofa (not the old sagging, broken one, but a near lookalike that Soos had bought to replace it). Sitting there and listening to the morning songs of birds—thanks to Wendy, he recognized many species now, robins, bluebirds, thrushes—and of course the early-morning woodpeckers, he donned and tied his ankle boots. Then he sat back and gazed out into the pre-sunrise dawn, the trees blue-green shadowy shapes, the parking lot filmed with ground haze. Dew gleamed on the Shack lawn, turning it into pewter.

Around the corner of the house, he heard the family door open and Mabel, sounding irritable: "'Go on, you silly dog, and do your business!"

Quietly, Dipper left the porch and hurried down onto the driveway. He stopped just far enough away so he couldn't see the Shack. If Tripper tracked him down—

But then Dipper heard the crunch of tires on gravel from the foot of the driveway and hurried down the hill to the spot where Grunkle Ford had pulled off the highway. He climbed in. "Aren't we going to walk down the trail?" he asked.

"No, there's always the chance of someone seeing us and following. Instead, we're coming in the back way," Ford said. "I can pull off the highway in about three miles, and then we'll find our way through the forest. I used to explore that area fairly often—for one thing, it was a place where I could encounter Gnomes. Anyway, I know a good spot where we can cross Cold Creek and keep our feet dry, and then it's just up the hill a short way to the effigy clearing." After a moment, he semi-apologized: "It's a little more complicated, but really as I said, I thought it best to avoid the house. Someone would be bound to wake up."

Like Tripper, with his keen doggy sense of danger, and so Mabel, too, would wake up. In fact the two of them had, and it was possible that Tripper had picked up on his worry and tension and didn't just need to go water the lawn. Dipper nodded. "If any of the what-do-you-call-thems, the constructs, show up, I hope they're not hostile," he said.

"I prefer to avoid violence myself," Ford said, "Your destabilizer pistol is under the front seat."

Dipper leaned over and found it. He made sure the safety was engaged and then checked to see whether it was powered. The ladder of green ovals lit one at a time, bottom up to top. Full charge. He leaned back, straightened his right leg, and managed to tuck the weapon into the waistband of his jeans.

"Here we are," Ford said. He drove onto the grassy shoulder near the crest of a hill, where the road behind stretched clear for maybe half a mile and the uphill run they could see reached maybe another quarter of a mile ahead. There wasn't much traffic up here. Few farms, one or two small-time places that sold vegetables, pork, and firewood, in season. Once four big sawmills had snarled and roared and rattled out planks a little farther along, but now they were silent, the buzz saws rusted in place. Exploring with Wendy, Dipper had seen beautiful round-topped hills like narrow pyramids, brilliant green with Irish moss.

They weren't hills, though, but enormous piles of decaying sawdust, the moss breaking them down a little at a time, consuming them like a slow emerald fire. Wendy had told him stories about such places. "They say that sometimes when the sawdust was fresh, kids would come into the woods and play on them. Three or four times, they dug tunnels and caves into the piles. And then the sawdust collapsed on them and suffocated them and sometimes the kids just disappeared. Went into the woods, never came out. Sometimes searchers found their bodies and sometimes not. Some of these pretty green hills just might be tombs. Treat them with respect."

Down a long hill, and there was Cold Creek, trickling and gurgling over round stones. The banks grew thick with ferns. Ford paused to get his bearings and then said, "Over to the left. There's a huge willow, see? That's the place."

Ah, yes, three big gray boulders shaped like huge cream-filled donuts, rounded but with flattish tops, one projecting from the bank where they stood, one in the center of the stream, the other attached to the opposite bank. A careful long step, trying not to slip, take another just as long, and then stumble up safe on the far side. "I know where we are now," Dipper said.

They climbed up the hill at an angle and emerged in the clearing—though now not nearly as clear as it had been when the Cipher effigy was still in one piece and Bill himself could be summoned with very little effort, and sometimes with very little effect. Over the past five years saplings had sprung up, and the clearing had nearly choked itself with brush.

Now a dome made of bent steel strips had replaced the effigy. Ford and Fiddleford had locked it inside the cage to short-circuit any arcane energies that might have lingered behind and to prevent any careless hiker from idly shaking hands with the stone version of Cipher. You could never be too careful.

Ford shrugged out of his backpack and took from it something in chrome and black plastic that looked like a small boombox. "Is that it?" Dipper asked.

"This is it." He set it on a mossy fallen timber. "First let me check the background levels."

He studied the anomaly detector. "Oh, yes. Already twenty per cent above base level of strangeness. That's lower than when Cipher was active, but still significant. There's lingering power here. And this clearing is the nexus of a ley line running from a town up in Washington State where bizarre things have been known to happen down to Haunted Hill, not far west of the California-Nevada border, and another line leading from Spirit Bay on the coast of Oregon to Sacrifice Caverns in Idaho. The lines cross right about where we're standing. This should be a focus of paranormal power."

He switched the device on. It sent out a low pulsating drone. "Back off ten feet. Have your destabilizer ready." Ford took a notebook from his coat pocket. By then the sun was well up, and even in the shade of the trees Ford had enough light to read. It was a Latin incantation. He spoke rapidly, so fast that Dipper couldn't follow, but he caught the names: Wendy. Xyler. Craz. Dippy Fresh.

At least Ford had left that one for last.

For a few minutes, Dipper thought nothing would happen. Then he heard someone approaching. "Ready!" Ford said. Dipper drew his destabilizer pistol.

Something that looked like Wendy hurried toward them, half obscured by the tall undergrowth. Dipper raised the weapon.

"Dip, no, it's me!" she said, and he saw that in her left hand she carried an axe. Her right she held up with her fingers spread.

Five of them.

"Wendy," he said, "Go back."

"I'm already behind her," said Wendy's voice.

But it was the other one.

Right behind the real one.

The world balanced on a perilous point.


	11. Chapter 11

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 15-16, 2017)**

* * *

**11: Uncanny Reunion**

"Don't touch her!" Dipper and Stanford yelled at the same time.

Wendy spun, crouching, raising her axe.

About six feet from her, the Wendy-double construct stopped, her eyes wide. She stared at Wendy, then at Dipper, and then back at Wendy. "Is that me but older?" she asked, her voice like Wendy's but different, too, strangely thin and distorted.

She had spoken to Dipper before, back in the Mabel Land bubble, but now her voice had a strange, buzzing tone that he had never heard. And now that she was more . . . solid, Dipper could see that her body looked subtly different, not quite human, deformed in ways he couldn't quite name. She didn't threaten by word or movement, but just stood gazing at Wendy.

Then she said in a pathetic, begging voice, "I could look like her. I can. We can be together, dude." But her tone held no hope.

Wendy backed away from her as the construct twitched and shuddered. Dipper blinked. She was growing taller—by an inch or two—and her hair reshaped itself to be more like the way Wendy wore it now.

But—he nearly gagged—during the process, three or four times a slit in her skin opened and a bug frantically skittered out, only to be re-absorbed after a few steps. "You're too late," Dipper said. "Wendy and I are getting married."

"No, please," the construct said. "I want to be real."

"Hear that vibration? It's the voice of Legion," Stanford said quietly. "Thousands of those—smaller bodies, speaking as one."

"What's happening to you?" Dipper asked. "You can tell us. No, don't come forward! Stay where you are. Don't come close to Wendy, or you'll both—stop."

"Dreamed for so many years," she said, staggering a little. "Slept and dreamed. We, I, we made a colony. Lived in hollow tree. We, I remembered this form. Remembered Dipper. And then—memories fading. Don't want to stop! Please."

"She's afraid, Dipper," Wendy said.

Stanford said to the construct, "The entity that gives you your power is departing your realm. That's why you're fading. It isn't our fault—and we can't help you." To Dipper, he said quietly, "Be ready for anything."

Stanford stooped and switched off the energy device.

Wendy gagged.

The false Wendy instantly broke down into a hundred thousand bugs—brown, roach-like, frantic, scattering in all directions. Everything, her hair, her clothes, had been made up of the insects. "I saw this happen before!" Dipper said.

Stanford switched the generator on again. The bugs halted in their rush to escape, clustered together in a seething mass—and the Wendy construct reformed, at first becoming something like a living statue made of round buttons of chocolate candy stuck together. Then, starting from her head, color flowed down, reddening her hair, turning her shirt green, giving flesh tone to her skin.

"Please," she said again. "I we I all scared."

Stanford stepped forward and spoke to her in a regretful, calm tone: "You're not one person. You're a colony, as you said. You must become that and not dream of being human. That won't be possible. This device lets you hold your form temporarily, but it will last only a short time."

"Want him," the false Wendy said, staring at Dipper. "My our purpose is to please him. Must try."

"No," Dipper said. "You should—live the life you were born with. Not try to be Wendy. There's only one of her. All of you together can't be another Wendy."

"Don't want to forget!" The construct moved so fast that Wendy nearly swung at her, but she only threw herself to her knees a few steps from Dipper. "Help. Don't want to die!"

And though Ford did not switch the generator off, she scattered again, breaking into her components.

"That," Wendy said, "was beyond freaky."

Dipper said, "I wonder if we can summon the others? Xyler, Craz? Are you there?"

"You're gonna need Mabel for that," Wendy said. "They're her dream boys."

"How did you know we were coming out here?" Dipper asked.

"Mabel heard you leaving and saw you running down the driveway. She woke me up and asked what you were up to. I found your note and saw you'd left your phone on the stand. Called it and got your voicemail message. Here, by the way."' She handed Dipper his mobile phone.

"I don't think we ought to call Mabel in," Dipper said. "She's too much on edge already."

"She's tougher than you think, Dipper," Wendy said.

Ford picked up the energy device. "I'd say it would have to be your sister's call, Mason. I'm willing to try if you want."

Dipper looked around. The clearing seemed so familiar. This was where the effigy of Bill Cipher had fallen to earth—the stone from in which he had lived and which he had animated during Weirdmageddon ("Physical form? Don't mind if I do!"). When he had dived into Grunkle Stan's mind—mistaking him for Ford—Cipher had gone back to his spectral form, abandoning the body he had fashioned for himself. And when Grunkle Stan had defeated him, the Fearamid had fallen to pieces and Bill's body, now a statue composed of minerals and metals, had partly buried itself here, its right hand held out as if for a handshake deal.

Now all that remained of it lay inside the metal cage, crumbled to bits, shapeless, inert matter again. No more insane laughter or deadly pranks. Like an ancient mummy in a horror movie, it had utterly disintegrated since the previous summer.

The false Wendy was only a collection of tiny minds that wanted to be more but realized they would share the statue's fate very soon now. And Xyler, Craz, and—Dipper felt his fists bunching from anger—Dippy Fresh—what about them? They weren't Bill's creations, but Mabel's.

He said, "Wendy, I can't talk to Mabel about this. You call her. If she wants to come out, tell her where we are. But we'll go meet her on the Mystery Trail. I don't want her coming into the woods alone. Not with these—things around."

* * *

Dipper walked a little apart from the others. After a short phone call, Wendy came up and hugged him from behind. "Hold it together, man. She's coming."

Ford re-packed the energy device—"I'm not risking this falling into the wrong hands:"—and the three of them made the short walk back to the Mystery Trail.

"Good thing she's gonna have us to guide her," Wendy said. "There's hardly even a rough track now."

They didn't have to wait long. They heard the hum of the golf cart motor, and then Mabel pulled into view. When she stopped it and scrambled out, she ran to Dipper and shook him. "Don't ever run off on your own like that! How many times has it taken both of us to get through some dumb crisis?"

"It's dangerous," Dipper said.

Mabel gave him a last, hard shake. "So's my driving, but I don't let that stop me! Hi, Grunkle Ford. Now what are we doing?"

"Trying to get rid of the fake me, Xyler and Craz, and, um, the duplicate Dipper," Wendy said. "We saw the Wendy thing. Made of bugs, like Dipper told us. Dr. P. thinks that she was created by Bill Cipher—"

"Maybe he made her real, but I made the wish," Mabel said. "I'm sorry."

"Who made the initial wish isn't the vital consideration," Stanford said. "How did you make the simulacrum of your brother?"

"Um, I just—you know, it was like I was making a life-sized rag doll, except I wasn't sewing or anything. I just kind of shaped him in the air, the way I imagined him, and he sort of filled in as I concentrated. And then he said, 'Flip a dip, Sis! You're looking far-out fine!' And, um—well, everybody just loved him. Sorry."

"Yeah," Dipper growled. "I remember Judge Kitty Kitty Meow Meow Face-Schwartstein saying that after the trial I was gonna be replaced by 'town darling Dippy Fresh.'"

Stanford cleared his throat. "This is hard for you, Mason. Why don't you come with us back to the clearing and hang onto your quantum destabilizer? We'll take care of—the one you don't like."

"But it's not his fault," Mabel said. "I'm the one who made him. He can't help what he is."

"Perhaps," Ford said softly, "If we work on the problem together, we might be able to discover a solution that will allow him to survive."

Dipper knew his grunkle well enough to know that Stanford wasn't saying everything he meant. If Dippy Fresh did somehow survive—and Dipper wasn't at all sure about the wisdom of that—he knew there was no way Dippy Fresh could exist on the earth. In the Mindscape, maybe, or the Nightmare Realm.

They returned to the clearing, Grunkle Ford took some time to explain in detail to Mabel what it was all about (she said, yeah, yeah, magic box, got it). Then he restarted the machine and, standing beside it, Mabel called out, "Xyler! Craz! Where are you, my dream boys?"

"Is that Mabel?"

This time the bodies formed out of thin air, like redshirts beaming down from the starship Enterprise, but with fewer sparklies or theremin effects.

"'Sup, girl!" Xyler, the blond one said. "You are looking, like, most bodacious, Mabel!"

"Dipper!" said Craz, who for some reason had blue-black hair. "Greetings! As an international attorney—"

"Whoa, dude!" interrupted Xyler. "Are we still international attorneys?"

"I don't know!" Craz said. "Up top!"

"Boys," Mabel said, "Listen—how are you even here? Mabel Land blew up!"

"So true," Xyler said. "But we were, like, catapulted into the real world!"

"Always before that we existed in dream time."

"Except for that time when we went into Mabel's Grunkle's mind!"

"Oh yeahhhh!"

Mabel interrupted them: "Why don't you go back there?"

The two boys still dressed as Dipper recalled them from what Stan called the Dreamscape: Xyler in a pastel-green tee shirt, white shorts, and beach sandals, Craz in pink shirt, red-and-white jacket, blue jeans, and white loafers. They looked at each other for a moment before Xyler said, "Tell her, bro!"

"No, you tell her!"

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

Then Xyler came up with the obvious compromise: "Let's both tell her!"

And then, with an air of triumph, they turned toward Mabel and said in unison, "We don't know!"

"There's not, like, a doorway between here and there," Craz explained.

"Not one we can find," Xyler added.

"Where have you dudes been since the bubble popped?" Wendy asked.

"Here!" Craz said. "We found out we were invisible, though!"

"Not to each other!"

"Noooo! We could see each other. And we could, like, see other people!"

"But nobody could see us, girl!"

"Or hear us!"

"You were basically ghosts," Dipper said.

"We weren't, like, spooky!" Xyler said.

"No, we were just as normal as ever!" agreed Craz.

"And we kept from going like insane in our brains because we love each other's company. High five!" Xyler said.

Mabel muttered, "Why did I ever think these guys were cool?"

"Wait," Dipper said. "Do you remember helping Mabel, Soos, and me when we went into Grunkle Stan's mind to find the combination to his safe?"

"We totally do!" said Craz.

"We opened all these doors!" Xyler added.

"I love opening doors!"

"Hey," Mabel said, "if we could open a door to get you home again to the Dreamscape, would you go there?"

"It would be nice to visit the high school again!" said both boys together. "Jinx!"

"Dude, we owe each other sodas!" said Craz.

"Dude, we totally do!"

"We could get them at Milt's Pop Shop!"

"It's around the corner from school!"

"But we need a door to get back there!"

"Aw."

They ran down. "What do they run on, Smile Dip?" Dipper muttered.

"Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, "can you build them a door to get them back where they belong?"

"That . . . " said Stanford slowly, "takes some thought."

To Xyler and Kraz, Mabel said, "We'll work on it. Meanwhile, can you help us find Dippy Fresh?"

"Oh, no," Dipper groaned.

"He's the town darling!" Xyler said.

"Hey, Dippy Fresh!" shouted Craz.

Then, impossibly, Dippy Fresh skateboarded in—across rough ground, fallen tree limbs, and stones—he hopped off, heel-kicked his skateboard so it flipped up high enough for him to catch it. He held up his right palm, his chubby face split by a wide grin. "Wiggity-wiggity! Way up top!"

"No!" Dipper yelled. "Nobody touch him!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 16-17, 2017)**

* * *

**12: What Could Possibly?**

That evening they all met again in Ford's laboratory. Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy were tired after a long day of hot retail action. Stanford seemed none the worse for having lost sleep and burning the candle at the Shack end, the Institute of Anomalous Sciences end, and the Guys in Black end (he had to authorize a Chupacabra investigation in south Texas, though he grumbled, "It'll be a coyote with mange. It almost always is.").

He had filled all the pages in a yellow legal pad front and back with arcane mathematics, spitball hypotheses and means of proving them, and doodles of computer-component schematics, some of which would give a sane engineer (if there were such a being) a fit of hysterics followed by nightmares. "I think I have at least a partial solution," he said. "But we need to test the process to see if it will work."

"This isn't another Portal dealey, is it?" Mabel asked with evident apprehension.

"No, not at all," Ford said. "It's completely different. In a few respects. And there's at least a seventy per cent chance that it won't allow the Dreamscape to leak into our reality. Perhaps even seventy-two!"

"Dreamscape or Mindscape?" Dipper asked. Once he had assumed they were different names for the same thing—but Stanford had told him that was not quite the case. "The Dreamscape is, if you will, an appendage of the Mindscape," Stanford said. "The Mindscape is the greater realm—it spreads across at least several thousand dimensions, and maybe many, many more. The Dreamscape is centered on our reality. It's the realm from which dreams and nightmares come—I really should think of a better name for the Nightmare Realm, because it's something different, a physical reality that is less a dimension than a ragged kind of interdimensional foam, populated by exiles and criminals from a thousand million worlds. However, for the time being, we can say that the Dreamscape is the realm of ideas and memories that sleeping human minds can access at times—"

Well, we don't need the whole lecture. We're not enrolled in Paranormal Studies 1102: Realms of Reality, taught by Dr. Stanford Pines. That's enough.

One thing that Dipper had learned, or taught himself on his own, was that he could visit the Dreamscape. At first the passageway had been through the sleeping mind of Grunkle Stan back when Bill Cipher had slipped into Stan's sleeping mind to discover the combination to the Shack's safe—which he had done, through a complex con job that involved his impersonating Soos.

Since then, through autosuggestion, Dipper could send himself into REM sleep and will his consciousness into lucid dreams. In them he had visited the incorporeal form of Bill Cipher, who had alternately messed with him, advised him, and at least once saved his life. Now Cipher, fading fast from the Mindscape, lacked the energy to penetrate the barrier into the Dreamscape to chat with Dipper.

But Dipper could still explore the land of dreams.

That evening, under Stanford's direction they rigged up an odd kind of platform. The base was a three-foot-on-a-side square covered with alternating layers of aluminum foil and damp blotting paper wet with a saline solution. Copper alligator clips on diagonally opposed corners led to a jury-rigged contraption made of pegboard, printed circuits, arcane components that were at best half real, and for some reason a toy monkey whose mouth opened and closed, whose eyes bugged out, and whose arms moved as he banged together cymbals and chattered.

The monkey, of course, was the key component.

At midnight, with Wendy, Mabel, and Dipper looking on, Stanford fired up the device. Buzzers buzzed, bells tinkled, beepers beeped, multicolored lights flashed, and finally the monkey solemnly banged the cymbals.

"We are ready for the test," Stanford said. "Dipper—you're the contact on the other end. Put yourself into the Dreamscape and find the monkey."

"I'll try," he said. He went into the niche where Ford had once stored his collection of Cipher memorabilia, dropped a cushion on the floor, and sat on it. He closed his eyes, relaxed his muscles, and let himself drop into a light autosuggestive trance. As the sounds of the lab faded, he breathed slowly and regularly.

And then he opened his eyes in a dream. As always, the Dreamscape was a gray-scale realm, blacks, whites, and probably at least fifty shades of gray, but no color. Colors did exist, but they were rare here.

He was still in a version of the lab and still in the basement of the Shack, except the Shack had pulled itself apart. Now the first floor—he could see the underside of the building, floor joists and flooring, floating twenty feet above. The basement had risen and now seemed to be on the ground level. It lacked a ceiling now, and through the gap between walls and floating Shack, Dipper could glimpse distorted pine trees and even the totem pole, leaning over so the top figure, Kolus, younger brother of the Thunderbird, could peer inside.

"Sorry," it said. "Always been curious about what's inside there. Did Mabel get her pig back?"

"Oh, yeah," Dipper told it. "He's got a daughter now and he's living a happy life on a farm."

"Good." The totem pole straightened back up. Dipper wondered what he was supposed to do next. That was one of the problems of visiting the Dreamscape—your thoughts became mushy, and remembering who and where you were and what you were about became problematic.

"I'm supposed to listen for . . . something," he told himself aloud. "What is it?"

The only thing he could really hear was an annoying clattering_. If I can stop that, maybe I can hear whatever it is I'm listening for._

Somehow the basement had transformed into a maze. Dipper threaded through it, the clattering growing louder—and then he saw the toy monkey sitting on the floor, mindlessly banging its cymbals.

As he looked down on it—

Sheets of lined paper showed up, materializing on the floor. Dipper leaned down and picked them up. One had Mabel's handwriting on it;

_When you had an accident in second grade, I gave you my spare pair of panties to wear._

Dipper blinked. He had forgotten that! On a cold morning as they got off the school bus, he had—leaked just a little big, and he'd started to cry in embarrassment. Mabel had reached way down into her bookbag and had handed him a pair of underwear—she sometimes sat on dusty or paint-spattered or damp surfaces, and her mom had started making her pack a spare—and said, "Hurry and put these on. Nobody will know."

He had wrapped his own damp underwear in sheets of paper towels and had tossed them into the bathroom waste bin. It had worked. He felt weird, but he had got through the day and as soon as they came home that afternoon, he'd put on proper boys' underwear. And he'd had to talk Mabel out of putting her pair that he'd worn into her scrapbook . . . .

The other note was from Wendy. It read,

_For a day or two, I thought my mother might have been a gerbil._

That made Dipper grin. Manly Dan, suspecting his daughter was getting serious about a boy, had sort of tricked Wendy into getting a serious beer buzz to get the truth from her. He'd happened to let something slip: "Remember, your mama was a Berble." Because of a serious feud between Dan and his wife's family, Wendy had never known her mom's maiden name—or, for that matter, her own middle name. She knew the initial but had thought her middle name was "Barbara" for as long as she could remember.

No, it was "Berble," in honor of Amanda Berble Corduroy. However, in her tipsy state, she'd heard what Dan said as, "your mama was a gerbil."

And since it was Gravity Falls—

Luckily, that got straightened out quickly. A final sheet of paper materialized at his feet. It bore Stanford's neat handwriting:

_You told me something about yourself that even Stanley did not remember. What was it? As soon as you get these messages, return and try to bring them with you._

Clutching the pages, Dipper sat on the floor, closed his eyes, and willed himself to—

* * *

"He's waking up," Mabel said.

"And you brought back the papers!" Wendy said. "Good job, man!"

"Now, now," Stanford said. "Let's make sure we succeeded. Mason, you should have had messages from Wendy and Mabel about personal information. Did you?"

He nodded. "Mabel reminded me of when she lent me something personal in the second grade. Wendy mentioned the time when she first learned what her middle name really was. And you meant that Grunkle Stan didn't remember that my real name is Mason. He knew that, but he hadn't seen us in so long that he forgot it."

"Give the messages back to the people who wrote them."

Dipper passed them out. Mabel said, "Yep, this is mine. See?" she flipped the paper over and showed a very small thumbnail sketch of Waddles's face.

"Mine, too," Wendy said. "But I just put a pattern of nine dots on the back of mine."

"And this is my message," Ford said. "Very well. We know now that the transporter can send material objects into the Dreamscape. The two constructs do have a material component—the insects in the case of the false Wendy, and molecules of air in the case of the Mason one."

"I hope they'll be happy with each other," Wendy said. "Me, I think I'd have to strangle Dippy sooner or later."

"Will that work, though?" Dipper asked. "I mean, even in the Dreamscape can they survive?"

"I think they should," Stanford said. "They have enough consciousness and sentience to become more real—in their own definition of that term—in the Dreamscape than here in the material realm. The Wendy construct will become, for all practical purposes, a human; the Mason construct should eventually develop a quasi-material reality."

"Won't they be lonely?" Mabel asked.

"Not necessarily," Stanford said. "People visit the Dreamscape nightly. They'll be able to meet anyone who dreams of Gravity Falls. It will be a weird kind of existence, but the two of them should be able to adjust. And there—as in Mabel's bubble—they can be any age. Perhaps they'll mature, or perhaps they'll be happier regressing to childhood. But dreamers will awaken thinking of them only as passing visions and memories, not as real people, and the constructs won't perish there—assuming they survive the passage."

"You'll have to explain that to them," Mabel said. "But Xyler and Craz—they're different. They can't go back to Dream Boys High, because there's no such place. It's just a movie!"

"I'm working on that, too," Stanford said. "Were you able to find the videotape?"

"Yeah," Mabel said. "It was under my old bed upstairs, in a box of stuff. But it's in bad shape. I mean, my Mom had it when she was a teen, and there were a couple places where the picture and the sound went way off, all glitchy and scratchy."

"Give it to me before you go to bed," Stanford said. "I just may be able to use it to resolve the boys' issue."

"Bill Cipher could make this so much easier," Dipper said. "If he were here."

"I don't believe he can directly interface with you any longer," Stanford said. "I'm sure that young Billy Sheaffer could be the intermediate—but do you want to involve him?"

Dipper had already had the argument with himself: Billy Sheaffer might be able to help, might even be able to re-create a version of Mabel's bubble for the rogue entities who had somehow survived its bursting.

But—Bill Cipher was supposed to be learning how to live an ordinary life as a human and, with all the restrictions of that, to make himself better than he had been. Creating artificial realities, intervening in the lives of sentient creatures—that might set Billy on a wrong, destructive path.

"No," he said. "I don't think we should ask that much of him."

"I hope the duplicates and the movie guys will agree to what we're doing," Wendy said.

Ford nodded and replied, "The choice is between a kind of life and oblivion. I think I can predict which they will choose."

"I just hope when I'm dreaming, I never see Dippy Fresh," Dipper said. "And that when I dream of Wendy—I only dream of my Wendy."

"Sweet, dude," Wendy said.

"Well," Mabel said, "I hope that now and then I'll dream of Dippy Fresh. He's like the baby I never had."

"Thank God," Dipper said.

Because that was crazy creepy on more levels than he wanted to think about.


	13. Chapter 13

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 17, 2017)**

* * *

**13: Dream Boys Go Home**

On Thursday morning, Wendy and Dipper got up extra early and did their run. Technically, they were due to run their nature trail—down the Mystery Trail to the end, then cut across a range of grassy hills as far as Moon Trap Pond, and then back the same way. However, without even speaking to each other about which way to go, they ran downtown instead, all the way to the gas station on the far edge of town, then back past the McGucket mansion, down the street in front of Greasy's, around the water tower, around Circle Park, and then back.

They'd measured the distances with pedometers, and the two routes were virtually the same length—4.3 miles for the nature trail, 4.4 for the town route—but the nature trail normally was the more pleasant. On the other hand, that led them right past the now barely visible path leading to the effigy clearing, and . . . until everything got resolved, they preferred not to pass that way.

If you run at the right speed, you're not able to converse in paragraphs. You should have just about enough wind to speak in sentences. That doesn't mean you can't talk about serious things, though. On the way in, Wendy asked, "How many in the courthouse?"

Dipper knew she meant how many at their wedding. "Let's see. Mom, Dad." Run a few steps. "Mabel. Grunkles and Graunties. You?"

"Dad, my brothers, Junior's fiancée."

"McGucket and Mayellen will want to come. Soos. Melody."

"Abuelita. That means the kids."

"May have to ask to use a courtroom!"

"Church service will be bigger."

"Worry about that before Christmas."

After a few more steps, Wendy said, "Think Soos and Melody are planning a reception."

"Yeah, I heard him . . . " pause for breath . . . "talking to Mr. Willet."

"Dip, I want to get away . . . as soon as we can."

"Agreed. Stan and Mabel . . . gonna drive my car over . . . come back in . . . the Stanleymobile."

"We'll take . . . the Green Machine."

And so on. What, you think couples in love just talk mushy stuff all the time?

Mabel, who normally grumped at Dipper if he happened to wake her up early, always forgave Tripper. So when he licked her face at six-fifteen, she just rolled out of bed, went downstairs, and let him out for his morning ablutions. As usual, he was prompt about attending to his business. Smart dog that he was, he'd learned to make his rank deposits in the big pile of needles beneath a pine tree which had lower boughs spreading out and so close to the ground that they practically formed a tent.

And Mabel was a good dog owner. She could have just left everything there—but sometimes Little Soos and Harmony played there, so she always took out a baggie and cleaned up after Tripper. He was so interested in the process that Mabel thought he must believe that his droppings were roughly as valuable as gold. The humans collected them so carefully, they must be hidden treasure.

Anyway, before seven that morning, Stanford called her, and five minutes after that, she opened the door for him. He was lugging a tricked-out VHS player. The base looked like a standard, though old, model, but atop it a golden cone rose, finned with six dinner-plate-sized discs, like a futuristic pagoda. "Thank you!" Stanford said as he came in through the gift-shop door. "Whew!" he set the contraption on a counter. "Fiddleford started this last night and then got up at four in the morning to finish it—"

"There's a four in the morning?" Mabel asked.

He looked at her blankly for a moment.

"It's a little joke," she told him. "What does it do?"

"If it functions correctly," Stanford said, "it will allow us to connect the, ah, launch pad to the realm of imagination created by all the viewers of _Dream Boys High. _That's a pocket of the Mindscape. There the boys will be back in their own setting. They can continue to exist there—"

"Will the movie just repeat and repeat forever?" Mabel asked.

"I think not. I believe they may perceive their lives as proceeding as anyone's life would—they'll grow up, go to college—"

"Or whatever."

"Yes, and that realm will seem to them every bit as real as our world is to us."

"What if our world is somebody else's movie?" Mabel asked.

"Well—theoretically it's possible," Stanford said. "However, if that were true, it would make no difference to us."

"That's all right, then," Mabel said. "When do you want to try this?"

"Whenever you're ready. Where would you say the boys might most likely be able to materialize? Where are your memories of them the strongest?"

"Attic. Grenda, Candy, and I played the _Dream Boys High_ game up here a lot during our first summer. Also, I drew dozens of pictures of Xyler and Craz. That was kinda during my boy-crazy phase. Anyway, I think they'd feel closest to me up there."

"Then let's go there. You bring the videocassette."

At the door to the bedroom, Mabel said, "Better safe than embarrassed." She knocked on the door and called out, "You two busy in there? Dipper? OK to come in?"

"They're probably out running," Stanford said. "Ah—I don't want to pry, but does Wendy sleep—"

"Nah, she sleeps in her room. I'm pretty sure she and Dipper are waiting for the wedding night. Graunty Lorena says you and she didn't."

Mabel opened the door as Stanford nearly lost his grip on the VHS player. "Um—she, um—she told you?"

"I know you and she were all mature and everything when you two fell in love," Mabel said in a reassuring tone. "I don't think less of you for it. Besides, you did the right thing."

"Yes," Ford said. "Because two people in love should make a commitment—"

Mabel smiled at him. "Grunkle Ford, I'm sorry, but you're not exactly the one to give me the talk. No offense."

"I'll, um, go get the transfer device," Stanford said.

While he was doing that, Dipper and Wendy returned. Dipper, looking sweaty, came in and asked, "What's that?"

Mabel explained, simplifying Ford's account to clarify for Dipper.

Dipper looked at her for a minute. "Um . . . OK?"

He was in the shower when Ford moved the last of the equipment upstairs. "They're back," he told Mabel. "I saw Wendy downstairs. Do you mind if she comes up?"

"No, of course not," Mabel said. "Dip should be back in just a minute."

"Then I will set up the apparatus," Stanford said.

With the launch pad—as Mabel called it—on the floor, the computer and processing devices under the table, and the VHS on the table, everything connected to everything else by a web of cables, Stanford switched everything on and confirmed that all the equipment was powered. Dipper, clothed except for his shoes, came in, and a moment later, Wendy joined them. "Now what's going to happen?"

"They're going to try to materialize Xyler and Craz and put them back in the video, I guess?" Dipper said.

"Close enough," Stanford said. "All right. Mabel, I've set it up so the video will play on a television emulator on the computer monitor. I think what you need to do is find the moment when the two young characters appear together for the first time."

"Food fight scene!" Mabel said. "That's about seventeen minutes into the movie! I'll find it."

"If you could pause the scene when they're both on camera, that would be a help. Wendy, Dipper, you stand over there. I'm not sure how the subjects will manifest, or how material they may be. Give them some room here in the center."

Wendy took Dipper's hand. "We'll go sit on the bed with our backs against the wall. That'll give you more floor space."

"Excellent idea," Stanford said absently.

Mabel, with the video playing through the opening credits, said, "Told you they'd wind up in bed!"

"We're just sitting!" Dipper said.

_Chill, Dip. It's just Mabel messin' with us._

—_Yeah, but she's always doing this._

_She'll stop if she doesn't get a rise out of you._

Mabel said, "OK, Grunkle Ford, will this do?"

The screen showed Xyler and Craz standing atop a lunchroom table, back to back, splattered with lunchroom food but looking triumphant.

"I think so," Ford said.

"This is the moment they bonded against Gruber the bully and became friends," Mabel explained.

"They look so noble," Wendy said.

"Yeah, they do," Mabel sighed.

—_She doesn't always process sarcasm, Wen._

_That's cool, dude. That's why she's always upbeat!_

"Now—there's a catch, I'm afraid," Stanford said. "Mabel, can you put yourself into the Dreamscape the way Dipper does?"

"Um—I can try," Mabel said.

"Maybe I can get in touch with them," Dipper said.

"Try, then," Stanford said.

"I got an idea," Wendy said. "Let Dipper hold my hand. He'll go into the dream-thing, whatever, and I'll stay awake and can talk to Mabel, and I can communicate with Dip mentally, and maybe that way we can conjure the guys up."

"Worth a try!" Mabel said.

And so that was what they did—Dipper sank into the Mindscape and concentrated himself into the attic. The others vanished—except for Wendy. He still felt her hand in his, though he couldn't see her.

_Dude, this always looks so weird. Why is the window the only thing that has any color?_

—_Don't know. Everything's usually black and white, but now and then something shows up in color. Maybe the window is yellow because it's connected to Bill Cipher?_

_Wait. Mabel says to call out that she wants Xyler and Craz to come and visit her._

—_Hang on._

Dipper concentrated and felt something stirring. And then he felt something else. "Hiya!" Mabel said.

She floated nearby, wearing her old outfit—culotte skirt, pink sweater with sunrise appliqué, yellow hairband—though she was her current age. And her colors were vivid. "How'd you do that?" he asked her.

_Seriously weird, Dip! I see her here, and I see her there in your head, too. She kind of went to sleep here._

"Hey, I heard her!" Mabel said. "Hi, Wendy! I used the same chant thing that we used when we went into Grunkle Stan's mind, Dip! This is very cool. Hey, Xyler! Hey, Craz! This is Mabel! Where you at, my dream guys?"

_Mabes! They're out here in the waking world! Come back!_

"Um, OK! But Broseph has to wake up for me to get out. Hey, Dip, you and Wendy still keeping your pact!"

—_Mabel! OK, waking up now!_

When Dipper came fully awake again, Mabel was laughing. "You couldn't help thinking the truth when I asked you that! Now I totally believe you, Dip! Really, I'm kinda proud of you two! Xyler! Craz! Hey, you guys ready to go back home to Dream Boys High for good?"

"Totally!" Xyler said.

"Far out!" said Craz.

"No telling what that grotty Gruber's been up to while we've been away!"

"Man, he is seriously heinous! We are so gonna kick that poser's unrighteous butt!"

"Can't wait, bro!"

"Gentlemen," Stanford said, "step this way."

The pad was large enough for only one of them at a time. They did rock-paper-scissors for it, and Craz's rock broke Xyler's scissors, so he stepped forward.

"All right," Stanford said. "The process is simple and painless. Do you remember this scene?" He pointed to the video still on the computer screen.

"Oh, that was awesome!" Craz said. "That was like our bonding moment!"

"You'll find yourself in that instant of your lives. For a little time you won't be able to move, but don't be alarmed. As soon as the other young man comes through, everything will be normal."

"So long, boys," Mabel said. "I'll see you in my dreams!"

"We'll always look for you, dream girl!" said Craz as he hugged Mabel.

"Visit us any time," Xyler said.

"When you're ready," Ford said.

"Here I go!" Craz stepped on the pad and Stanford energized it. For a moment Craz blurred, and then he was gone.

"Next," Stanford said.

Xyler hugged Mabel exactly the same way his buddy had, as though the hug were a repeated animation cycle. "Bye for now, girlfriendl!"

And Xyler was gone.

Ford started the video again. "Hey!" Mabel said.

Because she had watched the movie a hundred times, she knew exactly what happened next. Xyler and Craz turned to each other and did a joyous high-five before the scene cut to the principal's office.

But this time—

This time both boys turned toward the camera, gave a thumbs-up and winked, and _then_ high-fived.

"Have a good life," Mabel whispered. And she wiped her eyes.

"Two down," Stanford said.

"Two to go," Dipper replied.


	14. Chapter 14

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 17, 2017)**

* * *

**14: Slip of the Flip**

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday had become the three busiest days of the week for the Mystery Shack—and that Thursday kept the gang busy. Gideon and Ulva came in, as they normally did, and by the end of business, Gideon's smile looked pasted on, his eyes a little desperate, and even Ulva, who had more energy even than Mabel, and not with the dubious aid of Smile Dip at that, had wilted.

"Want to go be brushed," she said in a weary voice.

Gideon turned pink. "Uh—she always likes me to groom her after work," he said.

"Gideon is good with my hair," Ulva said with a tired-eyed smile. "Go now, get brushed, and then we can go have dinner somewhere, yes?"

"Sure thing, you cute li'l old cub you," Gideon said.

When they had left, Mabel, who was resting her head on the counter, said, "That's a creepy relationship, but cute if you make allowances."

"Don't knock it, Mabes," Wendy said. "The world needs all the love it can get."

"Hey," Stan said—he had come in to spend a day conducting the museum tours—"speaking of love, didja hear the news? Blubs and Durland have decided they wanna adopt a kid."

"Aw! Mabel said. "That's sweet!"

"Yeah," Stan agreed. "Only—don't you think Durland should at least finish high school first?"

"It's a long process, anyways," Wendy said. "There's time. I know one of my classmates at school was an adopted kid, and her family tried for two years before it all got done."

"Yeah, I'll encourage Durland to get his GED," Stan said.

Ford had come up late in the afternoon, had vanished into his lab for a couple of hours, and then popped back upstairs just as they were locking the doors. "When can we make our attempt?" he asked.

Stan glanced at him. "What attempt, Sixer? What are you guys up to?"

"Just cleaning up a few loose ends from the past," Mabel said. "Nothing to get all worried about. Grunkle Ford, can't we have dinner first? Teek and I just had snacks for lunch, and I'm starved!"

Reluctantly, Ford agreed. Abuelita had prepared a Tex-Mex meal—beef brisket fajitas with veggies, guacamole, rice and beans, and caramel-covered flan as dessert. Even Ford, who could be so absent-minded that at times he would seriously ask, "Have I had lunch?" enjoyed it. Teek, Mabel, and Dipper cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, and by a little after seven, they were ready.

Wendy had changed from her khakis, white shirt, and green blazer to her outdoorsy outfit of a flannel shirt—red this time, and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows because it had been a very hot day outside. Dipper put on his ankle boots, and they set out down the Mystery Trail. Ford had donned a heavy backpack, and he had Dipper carry a version of the energy accumulator that made it possible for the false Wendy and Dippy Fresh to materialize. "This portable unit should make it possible to get them back to the Shack without losing cohesion," Ford explained.

"I hope we don't upset the kids," Wendy said.

"Taken care of!" Ford said. "Stanley agreed to take Soos, Melody, Abuelita, and the children to a movie. They'll be out until nine."

"That's late for the kids!" Mabel said, sounding indignant.

"It's just one evening," Ford said.

"Wait, you got Grunkle Stan to pay for—?" began Dipper.

"I paid for the excursion," Ford said. "Remarkably, the largest part of the expense was for popcorn and snacks. Corn must have become a rare commodity during the time I was in the Multiverse."

Though the afternoon was shading into evening, the day remained sultry, about ninety degrees and unusually humid. "What are those bugs?" Teek asked as the underbrush on each side of the trail gave out a chorus of cheeps and chitters.

"Crickets and katydids," Wendy said.

"Katy did what?" Mabel asked.

"We don't talk about that," Wendy teased.

"Besides, if you listen," Dipper pointed out, "half of them claim that Katy didn't."

They paused at the overgrown path leading off to the left. "Everybody ready?" Ford asked.

"Everybody remember," Dipper warned, "you can't touch these guys."

"Well," Ford said, "technically, Wendy shouldn't touch the Wendy construct, and Dipper shouldn't touch Dippy Fresh—"

"Don't even worry about that," Dipper said.

"—because theoretically, only the originals and the constructs that resemble them would cancel out. When I was lost in the Multiverse, I briefly visited a dimension that at first I mistook for home. Very, very similar to our Earth, and there were doubles of people I knew, including myself. However, I directly observed that physical contact between duplicates results in a catastrophic blast of energy that disintegrates both. Just to be on the safe side, as Mason advises, each of us must be careful not to touch either of the constructs."

In a few minutes they came out at the steel cage that enclosed the spot where once the Cipher effigy had once stood. "Well, it's best to begin at once," Ford said. "Let me make a few readings first."

Ford and Dipper set up, but did not switch on, the energy device. "Should I start it?" Dipper asked.

"Give me a moment," Ford said. He studied his anomaly detector for three or four minutes. 'Hmm. The residual forces are decaying faster than I anticipated. You know, in another week or so, our friends would simply . . . well, evaporate. Perhaps we should let nature take its course."

"No!" Mabel said urgently. "This isn't nature, it's unnature! We can't just let them die. Dipper, tell him. This is my fault. I dreamed up the substitute Wendy and Dippy Fresh. They're my responsibility. They don't want to die, and if they do, it's my fault, and—we've got to help them. Tell them, Dipper!"

Dipper sighed. "I know how Mabel feels. I felt awful after all the Dipper copies got melted. Yeah, if we can find a place for them, I say we need to help them out."

"Proud of you, man," Wendy said quietly. "Let's do it."

"Very well," Ford said. "Dipper, activate the device."

* * *

Both the false Wendy—who had now reverted to her fifteen-year-old appearance—and Dippy Fresh, as obnoxiously cheerful as ever, shimmered into existence. "Listen," Dipper told them, "if you want to survive—"

"Whoa, Dip, don't be hyper!" Dippy Fresh advised. "Chillax to the max!"

Dipper bunched his fists, but said between his teeth, "IF you want to survive, come along with us. You'll be able to move and talk and all as long as we keep these devices turned on. But—please, now, listen—don't touch anybody else. If you do, both of you will die. Do you understand the danger?"

"Where are we going?" the false Wendy asked.

"The Mystery Shack," Dipper said. "But do you understand? You can't touch anyone—not Wendy, not me, not Mabel, nobody here. If you want to live, promise me that you won't try to touch anyone. You, too—Dippy Fresh."

"I'm so lonely," moaned the false Wendy. "But I promise."

"Dippy Fresh can go his own way, hey-hey!" said Dippy Fresh.

"Then let's go." Dipper picked up Ford's device, carefully, and said, "Teek, you go first. You—let's call you Wendy 2—you follow him, but not closely. Dippy Fresh—you can't ride the skateboard!—you follow Wendy 2. We'll come behind. Don't get too far ahead of me, because we're not sure how much of a range this machine has, and if you get too far from it, you may not be able to hang onto your physical existence."

They set off, a bizarre parade. Dipper saw that the reality of the two constructs was problematic. Wendy 2's legs bent strangely, as though her knees were almost loose in the joint and her ankles were weak. Dippy Fresh, though he spun, tossed, and caught his skateboard like a kid tossing a welcome sign outside a new business, sometimes flickered weirdly, as though on the verge of going out like a fading candle flame.

The constructs stopped in their tracks when they came in sight of the Mystery Shack. "I almost remember this," Wendy 2 said.

"Ziggity zow," said Dippy Fresh. "I think Mabel's room is up at the top! Bop!"

"It's a safe zone," Mabel said. "We'll go up to the attic and explain what we want to do."

It was obvious that neither Wendy 2 nor Dippy Fresh had ever encountered stairs before. Teek went up before them so they could see what they needed to do, but both of the constructs still went up toddler-style—both feet on each stair before they stepped up onto the next one.

Somehow, though, they both seemed realer. Wendy 2's body had stabilized, and Dippy Fresh's footsteps were audible—outside he had walked in silence.

In the attic, Stanford asked Wendy, Dipper, and Teek to wait just outside the open bedroom door. He and Mabel went into the bedroom with the constructs.

"Now let me explain to you how you can survive," Stanford said.

He spoke of the Mindscape—"It's like here, though it looks different, too," he said. "There will be a Shack there, very much like this one, and you can live there. The, um, rules are different there. No time will seem to pass. You won't need food or even water. You will have company—there are analogues of humans who visit there in their dreams, and of course you will have each other. Your physical existence will be different, too. You won't have any trouble maintaining your bodies—and it will be all right to touch others there."

"I'm afraid," Wendy 2 said. "I'm many. Will the many be there?"

In a kind voice, Stanford said, "They will, but they will be more unified than now. You will be one person. You won't have to concentrate to maintain your existence."

Mabel—though Dipper yelped—took Wendy 2's hand. Nothing happened—no blinding flash, no mutual annihilation—but Mabel said, "I'm so sorry. I helped you exist, but I didn't take responsibility. I didn't know you'd still be here after Mabel Land went away. I want you to live. This is your chance. When I dream of you, I'll come and talk, OK?"

"Way cool, Sis!" said Dippy Fresh.

Biting her lip, Wendy 2 nodded.

"Then let me prepare the tech and we'll get you two to your permanent home," Stanford said.

"Wait a minute," Wendy 2 said. "I want Dipper to go with me."

"Wendy, friendy, I'll come along!" Dippy Fresh chirped.

She gave him a murderous look. "Not you. I want Dipper! Who could stand you?"

For the first time in his existence, Dippy Fresh looked unhappy.


	15. Chapter 15

**Wanderers from the Weird Side**

**(August 17, 2017)**

* * *

**15: Making It Right**

False Wendy tried to lunge between Stanford and Mabel to get to Dipper. Before Dipper could react, real Wendy pushed him back so hard that he fell on his butt—and stood in front of him, her axe poised, ready to risk it all by confronting her double.

"Wait!" Mabel put her arm around the false Wendy's waist and held on, though the construct's momentum staggered her.

But—and this is key—the two did not vanish in a flash of anti-energy. "Let me get to him!" begged the Wendy construct. "Please! I was made for him!"

The real Wendy didn't strike but held her axe straight out in front of her, ready to fend off her double. "Stop squirming!" Mabel yelled. "I'll make it right!"

Stanford fiddled with the energy device. "Maximum power!" he said. "Dip—uh, Dippy Fresh, go over there and just wait. You're very cooperative, I hear!"

"Okety doke!" Dippy Fresh tossed his skateboard in the air, did a cartwheel and wound up beside the head of the bed, and caught the spinning skateboard. He leaned with an elbow against the table and grinned. "Cool or what?"

Mabel manhandled the false Wendy back to the center of the room. "Stop it! You're strong, but I'm bigger than you! And you can't dissolve into roaches when the energy thingy is on full power, right, Grunkle Ford?"

"That's my hypothesis," Ford said.

The false Wendy and Mabel stood, both breathing hard, facing each other. "Listen!" Mabel said. "I have a couple of ideas, OK? I think I can do this and make everything all right. Give me a chance, and you can be happy!"

Wendy helped Dipper to his feet. "Sorry, man."

"You shouldn't have stood in front of me, though," Dipper told her. "She probably wouldn't have hurt me if she touched me, but you—"

"Reflex, dude," Wendy said. "You OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Love you, Wendy."

"Back at you, Dip."

Teek called, "Be careful, Mabel!"

"Thanks," Mabel said. "But it's OK. I don't know what I'm doing, but that's when it always goes right!"

"She's got a point," Dipper admitted.

"OK," Mabel said. "Here, hold both my hands and look in my eyes. How old are you?

"Fifteen," the false Wendy said.

Mabel glanced at Dippy Fresh. "Hey, Dippy, how old are you?"

"We're samey-same-same, Sis! We're twelve rockin' years old!"

"There's the problem," Mabel said. "OK, uh, Wendy 2.0, you just watch and let's see if I can do a little editing and tweaking here. If it works, I'll help you out, I promise. Deal?"

The construct bit her lip and nodded. One tear slipped down her freckled cheek.

_Look at her eyes, Dipper. She can cry!_

—_She's more human than I thought._

_I feel sorry for her, man._

—_She scares the spit out of me!_

_What's Mabes saying? I can't hear her._

—_I don't think Mabel wants anybody but good old Dippy to hear her._

_What's going on? What's happening?_

—_I . . . don't know._

* * *

"Let's fix you up a little," Mabel whispered, smiling. She took the skateboard from Dippy Fresh's grasp and set it on Dipper's bed. Then she took off his purple shades and his cap and ruffled his hair up from his forehead. "I'm gonna start on this."

Dippy Fresh stood obediently still while Mabel held his hair off his forehead with her left hand while tracing his Big Dipper birthmark over and over with her right index finger.

Wendy, peering in past Stanford and the false Wendy, whispered to Dipper, "She's erasing his birthmark! It's fading out!"

—_Maybe she wants to make sure the two of us can be told apart. But we look so different now!_

_Five years can do that, man!_

"There we go," Mabel said, admiring Dippy's smooth, clear forehead. "Now then." She cradled his head between her hands. "Keep looking in my eyes. OK, we're gonna fix you up inside now. You're cheerful but not overboard about it. Sometimes you worry. But you're stubborn and you're smart, OK? And listen to me now. Wendy _C_orduro_y_ is like your best friend. You admire her! Everything she likes to do is fun! All you really want to do is to play with her. Now listen . . . ."

Nearly half an hour passed. Mabel left the sunglasses and the skateboard on the bed, but she put the pine-tree hat back on Dippy's head—forward, not backward. When she turned away from him, he shyly waved at the false Wendy but didn't speak.

"Now let's take care of you," Mabel said. "Come take my hands again."

The two gazed into each other's eyes—Mabel, an inch or two taller, had to look down a bit. Suddenly, a panicked false Wendy tried desperately to jerk away. "I'm afraid! Stop!"

—_She's not like you at all, Wendy!_

_Dunno. I'm pretty good at hiding my terror._

Mabel called over her shoulder, "Give me more power, Grunkle Ford!"

Ford tried to adjust the power knob. "I'm giving you all she's got!"

Tightening her grip on the false Wendy's hands, Mabel said firmly, but in a kind, loving voice, "Calm down. You're safe with me. Listen, Wendy, you can trust your—your mother! You do trust me, don't you?"

Breathing hard, the false Wendy whispered, "Y-yes."

"I'd never ever do anything to hurt you. Look in my eyes. All right, now tell me the truth: How old are you, Wendy?"

"Fifteen. But Dipper's only—"

"Think hard," Mabel said. "Think about high school and everything. Are you happy being fifteen?"

Closing her eyes, the false Wendy admitted, "N-no. I'd give anything if I could be twelve again!"

"Breathe easy," Mabel said in a soothing tone. "Good girl. Think of how you were at twelve."

_She was never twelve!_

—_No—but you were her model, and you were! I'll bet she has your memories._

Mabel was murmuring, "Hang onto that. Hold on. Here we go. Just relax. This is going to feel wonderful. Regular breaths. Good girl. Here we go."

The real Wendy gasped. The false Wendy—shrank. Not all that much—just a few inches. And she also got a little skinnier, and her hair shortened until it was just past shoulder length.

"Oops," Mabel said. "Let's adjust those clothes now!"

The false Wendy's logging boots shrank down to ankle-boot size, her jeans tightened a little on her lankier frame, and her trademark flannel shirt transformed into a soft, thick pale-green tee shirt. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and bleated a muffled "Oh no!"

"No braces!" Mabel said hastily. "Uh—they just came off, and your teeth are perfect!"

With a relieved gasp, the false Wendy smiled. Her grin wasn't as cocky and self-assured as usual, but rather shy.

"You're so adorable," Dipper whispered to his girl. "Uh—she is."

"Dorky, you mean!"

"But if you'd looked like that when Mabel and I first arrived—"

"Yeah, you'd have been too shy to talk to me for like a month!"

. . . "Yeah."

"Dude, you think this will work?"

"It might."

"OK," Mabel said. She crooked a finger at the reshaped Dippy, who came over—yep, shyly."

Mabel let go of the false Wendy's hand with her left hand and took Dippy's. "Here we go. Wendy, this is Dippy. He's gonna like you a lot. Dippy, this is Wendy. She's gonna be your BFF. But you two have to move to a special place, OK? It's just like Gravity Falls, but you'll have each other, and you won't get older or move away, and people will come and visit you and you can do anything fun! Dippy, I think you ought to go first. Now, when you get there, you'll feel a little lonely, but just wait around and you'll find a friend." She whispered something in his ear, he nodded, and then Ford had him step on the launch pad—and he vanished.

"Now you, Sweetie," Mabel said to the false Wendy. "When you get there, you'll be really, truly real. And—" again she whispered in the construct's ear. "Go on and make Mommy proud."

Impulsively, the Wendy construct kissed Mabel's cheek.

Mabel held her hand as she stepped on the pad, then let go and stepped back. "I love you!" she said.

The false Wendy was smiling as she faded from view.

Ford immediately switched off the energy accumulator and shook his hand. "Hot!" he observed. "We pushed it to the limit."

Dipper asked Mabel, "What did you tell them both at the end?"

Mabel looked sad. "I told them to forget about each other until they meet again, and about Mabel Land and the real world. And once they do meet in the Dreamscape, they're going to be happy forever."

"Aw, Mabes!" Wendy said, hugging her. "You really are a straight-up saint!"

Ford put his big hand on Mabel's shoulder. "Mabel, you are truly an excellent young woman. But those—they really weren't your children, you know."

With a sad smile, Mabel said, "You're wrong this time, Grunkle Ford. They really were. They were my brain children."

* * *

Well.

Sometimes adventures don't end in life-or death battles, or in Armageddon experienced or averted. Sometimes . . .

Sometimes they end with a twelve-year-old guy grunting in frustration as he slips back off a tree trunk.

And with a twelve-year-old girl, unseen, behind him, laughing and saying, 'Hey kid! What are you doing?"

And the boy turns around. "Oh. Uh. Hi." He pointed upward. "There's a bird nest up there, and I just wanted to get up and look into it."

"Don't you know how to climb a tree?"

The boy shakes his head. "I guess I never learned."

"Come on, dude. I'll show you."

"You can climb a tree? Cool!"

"I kinda rule at stuff like that! My name's Wendy. What's yours?"

"I'm—" the boy breaks off, wrinkling his forehead as if for a moment he isn't quite sure. Then he grins. "I'm Dippy!"

"I like it! OK, Dippy, see that branch right there? That's our first objective, man. Here, I'll boost you up so you can get a grip on it. You pull yourself up and I'll be right behind you!"

She makes a stirrup with her hands, he gingerly steps on it, and she gives him just enough boost for him to grab the limb. Gasping and struggling, he hauls himself up and manages with a lot of grunting to straddle the branch. Laughing, she scrambles up, nudges him over, and sits beside him. "You waste a lot of effort, man! I gotta teach you to climb without all that kicking."

"I live in there," Dippy says, pointing at the nearby Mystery Shack.

"Cool! Can I come and visit?"

"Yeah! I'd like that a lot! Uh—is this an old nest?"

Wendy cranes to examine his find. "Yeah, dude. It's like last year's. You want to take it for a souvenir? The birds won't use it again."

Let's leave them there, perched cheerfully on a limb, two new friends in an enchanted world, kids forever, doing kid things—saving a bird nest, exploring discoveries that every single time seem fresh and new, laughing with each other, running and climbing, exploring, swimming, and lazing, always enjoying each other's company, and occasionally getting a dream visit from a sleeping Mabel, who always greets them fondly and—good mother that she is—lets them live their own happy lives.

* * *

The End


End file.
